


Scrooged

by 6mgs7



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: All the words, Bah Humbug, Christmas, Christmas carol, Gallavich, GallavichChristmas, Ghosts, I'll Edit When I'm Dead, Lessons, M/M, Mickey centric, Regret, Scrooge - Freeform, au with hints of canon, woody - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/6mgs7
Summary: A lifetime of heartbreak and disappointment has left Mickey angry and bitter. He's lost sight of the love that life still has to offer, until a Christmas Eve drink with his dad brings it all back to him.This is for my Gallavich Ride or Die, Vancouver313.  I owe her about $4,280,498 and counting, but I'm hoping she'll discount that in exchange for a little story.  Merry Christmas, Bitch!   - The Grinch 💚
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 25
Kudos: 42





	1. Marley's Pub

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vancouver313](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vancouver313/gifts), [Fucking Endgamers Always](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fucking+Endgamers+Always).



> This is an unedited first draft. All errors are my own, and I'm sure there are plenty.

**STAVE ONE**

Chicago’s Magnificent Mile in December felt a lot like stepping into a cheesy Christmas movie. Everywhere Mickey went, there were bells jingling and Christmas music piping through speakers, twinkling lights and tinseled trees, giant red bows and evergreen garlands, and shoppers and Santas and elves and candy canes and packages and cocoa and carolers and ... and the fucking bums pissing on the sidewalks…

“Good evening Mr. Milkovich!” Charlie, the hotel doorman pulled the door wide open to let Mickey pass with his overstuffed courier bag and armful of packages, but two young boys came racing from the elevator and knocked Mickey into the door frame. All of his packages fell to the floor.

“Aaugh… You little… mother-” _don’t cuss! Don’t cuss, don’t fucking cuss! Motherfucking...Bah humbug!_ At least that’s what came to mind, but he didn’t say anything more. 

The boys’ mother offered a quick apology as she ran out the door looking for the two ruffians. Mickey's face was red and the veins on his neck flared as he muttered profanities to himself.

Charlie tried to make light of the situation. He chuckled and helped Mickey gather the packages from the ground.

“What the dickens got into those two little buggers! I hope there wasn’t anything breakable in these.”

As doormen went, Charlie was Mickey’s favorite, and given that he spent sixteen hours a day going in and out of office buildings all through Chicago, he knew a lot of doormen. Charlie had moved to America from Ireland many years before, but still spoke with a heavy brogue, no doubt using it to his advantage to rake in the tips. He was the only employee at the hotel who didn’t bug the shit out of Mickey.

“Are these all Christmas gifts?” Mickey grimaced, and Charlie knew right away they were not gifts.

“The fuck am I gonna buy presents for? What’s the point, anyway? Give someone an ugly fucking sweater they’re never gonna wear in exchange for bath bombs or potholders. I don't want any of that shit? It’s a dumb fucking tradition, if you ask me. They spend twenty bucks on you, now you have to spend twenty on them… OR, better yet, why not just let everyone keep their fucking money, that way no one gets stuck with shit they didn’t want in the first place.” 

In Mickey’s opinion, the only thing worse than the all the tinsel and fake merriment was the wasteful spending people did at Christmas. He pointed at the shoppers passing by.

“Those assholes are buried in debt and can’t even afford to feed their fucking kids most of the year, but when Christmas rolls around they lose their minds shopping, just to put as much shit under the tree as they can. I guaran-fuckin-tee you their kids won’t even remember half of it in a month, and they'll break the rest of it. _Or,_ if you get lucky and hit the parent jackpot like I did, then your fucking dad'll just pawn all that shit or sell it at the bar anyway, so what’s the fucking point? I hate everything about it. Nothing good ever happened for me at Christmas, even as a kid.”

Charlie nodded, knowing just the sort of childhood Mickey was talking about – it wasn’t too far from his own - but he also knew choosing to stay bitter and angry about the mistakes their parents made never served a single soul.

“I understand completely. I was never much for the holiday myself, until I had grands. Even my own little ones made the season more stressful than fun, but I’ll tell you, once those grandchildren come along, everything changes,” he chuckled, “Probably because I get to send them home when it’s over and get back to a little peace and quiet.”

The thought of children or grandchildren seemed eternities away from Mickey’s life as it was, unless he picked up a few strays from the neighborhood. Having been heartbroken by his first true love years before, Mickey had given up on the idea of having his own family or love or kids. Sure, he had tried dating for a while, but every guy he met just seemed to piss him off and never lasted long. Those who did stick around for more than a few weeks eventually got tired of his bitchy mood swings and left him. He didn’t care – good riddance to all of them!

After a few years of the same broken routine, Mickey gave up on dating all together. He didn’t see the point– he’d found the love of his life when he was just a boy – Ian Gallagher – but somehow, he’d had managed to mess that up too. Their life together had been great until Ian got sick. After that, things got rocky, and Ian's illness putting a stress on their relationship that they had not been ready for at such a young age. Ian did what he thought was right and gave Mickey an out. Mickey did what he thought Ian needed, and gave him some space.

It was only supposed to be a pause for them to catch their breath, but Ian’s stubbornness and Mickey’s anger lasted for days. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and before long, all hope was lost. One moved away and the other made every effort not to be found again, but neither went a single day without thinking of the other. 

When Mickey finally came around, it was too late. He poured himself into work, trying to earn enough money to go after Ian, but there was never enough left over at the end of the week. He knew he couldn’t afford the medical bills Ian had on the little money that he made, so he came up with a new plan. He used his money to start his own small courier business on Michigan Ave. He worked long hours, 364 days a year, scrimping and saving every penny he made, and even foregoing his own basic needs at home - but no matter how much he saved or how hard he worked, he was convinced that it would never be enough.

He fell into a dark place, burying himself in work just so he wouldn’t feel the crushing weight of his loss every day. He blamed himself and cursed Ian, and a poisonous rage and bitterness grew inside of him. He shut out the rest of the world, losing touch with family and friends, save his one sister, Mandy. Mickey did his very best to push her away as well, but she continued to call, even when he refused to answer.

“I don’t have time for kids, and I’ve got all the peace and quiet I could possibly want,” Mickey grumbled, snatching the last package from Charlie’s hand as he continued his rant, “Besides, Christmas is just an excuse to keep honest working men down. You think every person that's missing a day of work tomorrow is getting paid? Fuck no. And I won’t be making any money, either, all because a few rich assholes decided to take a day off to hang out with their snot nosed crack babies. You do Christmas your way and let me do it in mine.”

He stormed away without another word, fumbling with the packages as he headed toward the elevator, but not before catching the attention of the hotel manager at the front desk.

“Mr. Milkovich! A word, please!”

Mickey stepped up the pace, but Rhonda was coming up fast behind him. The clickity clack of her heels sounded like an annoying drum roll getting faster and faster as he tried to escape.

“Hold up! Hold the elevator! I just need… Mr. Milkovich, please! I have a gift basket for you.”

“Keep it. Kinda busy right now,” but then paused, “Wait, is there money in it?” 

“Uh… no. It looks like it's mostly apples and pears, I think. Oh, and a bottle of wine. Shall I follow you to your office?”

“Fuck no! Keep it.” He balanced the packages against the elevator wall and tried to reach the button to close the doors before she caught up with him, but it was too late.

“Here, I got it!”

Rhonda pressed B2, then turned to face Mickey with a seductive smile the second the doors closed. The elevator descended to the basement two levels down. She straightened her skirt and pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear nervously. He stared straight ahead, taking care not to even look at her reflection in the stainless-steel panels on the wall. The elevator moved at its usual painfully slow snail’s pace, giving Rhonda plenty of time to open a conversation.

“So, _Mickey_ ,” She tried his first name out cautiously.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Have you given any thought to… you know… the New Year’s Eve party I mentioned?”

“Not going.” The doors opened and he booked it down the hall to his tiny office right outside the hotel laundry. Rhonda ran to keep step with him.

“But… I thought… You said you would think about it?” _clickity clack! clickity clack!_

Mickey fumbled to unlock his office door, jerking the key away when she tried to help him, “I fucking got it!” 

He knew if he ever hoped to get her off his back, he was going to have to stop running away every time he saw her and finally face the music. He dumped his courier bag and packages onto the long table he used as a desk, then grabbed the basket of fruit from her hands and tossed that on the desk too. Before she could make herself too comfortable, Mickey put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back toward the door.

“I thought about it. I’m not going. I fucking hate New Year's, and the only thing I hate more than New Year's is Christmas - got it? I hate the shopping, the people, the presents, the music, the champagne, the fireworks, the parties, and the fucking people!"

“You said that twice,” she said. Mickey looked at her confused, “People... You said it twice.”

“Yeah, because I fucking hate them, so that's a big fucking no for me."

“But… I just thought we… when you ... what about the-?”

“The what? The mistletoe? It was one god damn kiss, and it didn’t mean shit, ok? You wanna know the truth? Ok, I’ll tell you! I needed you to sign my new lease without increasing my fucking rent, ok, because this shit hole of a storage closet you try to call a suite isn’t worth a hundred more a month. I don’t even have a fucking window! Swear to fucking Christ, if I’d known you were gonna keep chasing me around like a lovesick puppy, I would have never done it!”

Rhonda stepped back and gasped as if he’d smacked her across the face. Her jaw hung open comically as she clutched invisible pearls at her throat.

“I-I-I…” she cleared her throat, composing herself, then tried again, “For your information, _Mr. Milkovich,_ I didn’t even remember that kiss.”

Oh, she had remembered it! Her knees had gone weak and her spine had melted away when Mickey grabbed her beneath the mistletoe and laid a long, wet, sloppy kiss on her, but in his defense, he didn’t have any other choice. He might have liked Rhonda better if she was a class A bitch to everyone, but she was even worse than that. She was one of those happy, peppy, annoying fuckers he just wanted to punch in the face, and the truth was, if she had been a man, he might have already done it. Either way, when the rumors started flying around that she was increasing rents, what was he to do? He’d caught her checking out his ass dozens of times, and she practically drooled on herself every time they talked, so Mickey played off his bet assets. In the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t seen the harm in a little kiss.

“Ok, sure. Great. Glad to hear it…” He rolled his eyes, “So, maybe now you can stop following me down here every time I come in the building so that I don’t have to buy a rape whistle.” He continued to back her out the door slowly. 

She was flabbergasted and mortified, practically tripping over her own feet before she remembered the actual reason she had followed him down to the basement.

“Wait! What about the fundraiser for the Boys & Girls Club?” She pulled a donation form from her pocket and handed it over to Mickey before he could close the door. “You promised you would help-“

“Promise is such a strong word, don’t you think?” His phone buzzed in his pocket, “Ok, gotta go, bye bye now.” He closed the door tight and answered the phone, “MagMile Courier Services, how can I help you?”

“Who is this? Mickey?” A clamoring racket in the background made it difficult to hear, but Mickey recognized the nettled harsh tenor of his dad’s voice immediately. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. It had been years since he’d had seen or talked to Terry, and he could have happily gone another hundred.

“Who is this?” he hoped Terry would think he had dialed the wrong number, but it didn't work.

“Who the fuck do you think it is? It’s your old man, you little shit,” Terry growled, “Meet me at Marley’s Pub on Ashland in an hour. I got something I need to talk to you about.”

Mickey pressed the volume button, struggling to hear him over the noise. “If you’re calling about my shit at the house, just burn it. I don’t give a fuck.”

“This ain’t about that!” 

“Well, whatever it’s about, I can’t make it. I’m busy.” Mickey checked the clock on the wall. He still had several deliveries to make before he could call it a night. “And you know what else? I don’t know how you got this number but do us both a favor and lose it. Whatever shit you’re up to, I don’t want any part of it? I gotta-“

“ _MICKEY!”_ The furious bellow summoned a long-forgotten terror inside of Mickey that hadn’t gripped him since he was a child. _“You listen, you fucking little cocksucker! This is a matter of life and death! Do you hear me? I need you to be there, and I don’t wanna hear any god damn excuses why you can’t go. Don’t fucking be late!”_

Their connection ended, leaving Mickey puzzled and unnerved. After all those years, what could Terry possibly need that was so urgent, and a matter of life or death at that? He thought to dial Terry back and tell him to go fuck himself, but the number on his phone said _private._

“Looks like you’re gonna have one more reason to be disappointed in me tonight, old man, ‘cause I’m not fucking going.” He loaded up his courier bag for the last run of the night then headed out.

***  
“God damn motherfuck… Get the fuck out of the way!” Mickey cursed at a couple making a mad dash in front of his car as he waited for traffic to move.

He honked his horn and flipped them off as if they were to blame for the flashing yellow lights in all directions at the intersection where he’d been stuck for almost ten minutes. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he squeezed his car between the right lane of traffic and the parked cars to make an illegal turn down a one-way street, then an immediate right into the alley, ignoring the drivers that honked at him.

“Fucking stupid people. Can’t get anywhere when the roads are clean, how the fuck you gonna get somewhere if it snows!” He hit the gas and flew down the alley and onto the backstreets toward the south side. Each time he came to an intersection with more than 3 cars backed up, he rerouted to avoid them. Before long he was cruising down Ashland Avenue toward home.

That was, until a car a hundred feet in front of him decided to try to beat a red light and hit a truck in cross traffic.

“You gotta be shittin’ me.” There was nowhere for Mickey to go. Traffic in front of him had come to a stop, and more cars were piling up behind him. He laid on his horn, joining in the chorus of drivers who were trying to get home, then finally just gave up. 

Out his side window, a flashing neon sign pointed to Pozitano’s Pizzaria, beckoning him, but when he looked closer there was a door between the pizza place and the EZ Pawn with a sign that read, **_Now Open! Marley’s Pub._** And, as luck would have it, a single parking space available just to his right.

“What the fuck?”

Mickey wasted no time parking. He told himself he’d go straight into Marley’s, tell Terry to fuck off and die to his face, then grab a pizza for later. When he got inside, the place was dead, save a few drunks at the bar and the bartender who gave Mickey a nod.

“Gimme whatever you got on tap.” Mickey said, pulling a few bills from his wallet. “Kinda dead in here, ain't it? Where is everyone?”

The bartender slid his glass across the bar, “Christmas Eve. Guess everyone’s a little busy tonight.”

Mickey looked around and found Terry sitting in a dark corner booth, the same callous and contemptuous sneer on his face that had been plastered there for as long as Mickey could remember. Terry kept his head hung low, peeking up at his son, but didn’t say a word as Mickey dropped into the bench across from him. Mickey's foot kicked something beneath the table that clanked like chains, but when he looked below, there was nothing there.

“Pop.” Mickey lifted his glass slowly and raised an inquisitive brow at his dad, waiting for him to talk. “You drag my ass down here, and now you got nothing to say?” 

He drank, never taking his eyes off Terry. If there was one thing he’d learned, Terry would just as soon put a bullet through his _faggot ass_ as any other person on the street; Terry had told him as much a dozen times. 

Terry’s snickered, his breathing shallow and labored, but his eyes calculating and scheming, and for a minute Mickey believed Terry might jump across the table and attack him. He set his glass down to be ready just in case.

“Yo… dad? You fucking high or something?” He tried to shake the creepy vibe, but there was something definitely not right about the man sitting in front of him. “Ok cool. You know what? Fuck this. I’m out.”

Terry still said nothing, but he began to tremble and chortle, leaning forward onto the table, his fingers clawing at the polished wood as he struggled to stand. Once again, the clanking of chains was even more clear than before. Terry chuckle and glared into him like a madman.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Mickey backed up in his seat, sure his old man had finally snapped.

The clanging of chains grew louder as Terry moved with great effort, but before Mickey could escape the bench, Terry leaped forward and took hold of his arm. Icy cold fingers dug into Mickey’s skin, and for the first, time, he saw the irons shackled around Terry’s wrists. They were attached to yards of thick black chain that must have weighed hundreds of pounds; the chains wrapped up Terry’s arms and around his neck and torso, their weight crushing his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe, but still, Terry’s chest rose and fell painfully and with great effort. 

A hot stench radiated off him and in every breath a rot from some dark forbidden place assaulted Mickey’s senses. Terry’s sneer became a crazed grin, his eyes glistening with wild excitement as he dug his nails deeper into Mickey’s arm, pulling him closer.

Mickey struggled to get free, prying at Terry’s fingers with one hand and pushing himself away with the other - his legs and feet now tangled in long chain beneath the table.

“Get off me!”

“It’s too late for me, Mickey!” Terry said at last, his voice like gravel, the spit seeping from the sides of his mouth. “It’s too late! But you still have a chance!”

“ _THE FUCK!!”_ Mickey screamed, now terrified.

“Listen to me, you fucking little pissant! LISTEN BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!”

Mickey yanked his arm free, leaving trails of scarred skin where Terry’s nails had been. He fell from the booth then stared in disbelief at his dad, now a wasted skeletal shell of a body, his clothes worn and ragged and draped in the chains that seemed to move around him like a snake.

“This some kind of prank, because it ain’t fucking funny!” Mickey looked around, but the bartender and the drunks and the booths and the window that looked out onto the flashing neon sign of the pizza parlor were all gone, including the front door. All that remained was the single bulb swinging back and forth somewhere above him, and darkness wherever else he turned.

Terry dragged himself from the booth with a heavy stomp. He gathered the chains around him and pulled their weight behind him with great effort and trudged toward Mickey.

“I came here to warn you, Mickey. Listen to me or you'll be fucked to this same hell for the rest of eternity. _"_

Mickey held a hand over his eyes and the other out in front of him as he backed away.

" _Don’t look away, Mickey!_ ”

He winced and repeated over and over, “This isn’t real! This isn’t fucking happening!” 

He dared to peek between his fingers, then let out a tiny mouse-like scream. Terry had morphed from a solid being into some supernatural transparent apparition. The skin on his face now sagging and gray, shredded in places, making it look like someone had tried scratching his eyes out, and his bones were now showing through his forearms and fingers. Mickey gagged at the stench of rotting flesh, and flinched with each pull of the chain, then at last bent to Terry’s urging.

“Just tell me… what the fuck happened to you?”

“All my life, I never needed shit from anyone. I was the meanest motherfucker on the south side,” He laughed arrogantly, an ironic declamation given his current enslaved state. Instantly, three black teeth rolled from his head, then his jaw cracked and fell open, hanging there unnaturally upon his face, as punishment for his hubris. Terry shrieked in pain!

Mickey shrieked even louder! He watched in horror as Terry attempted several times to push his jaw back into place to no avail, then finally ripped a piece of material from his shirt and tied his jaw up in a sling so that he could continue speaking, this time with a bit more humiliation.

Trudging closer and dragging the chains behind him, Terry closed the space between them. The chains ripped at his skin, and again something inside him snapped like the breaking of bones. Terry wailed in agony and Mickey moaned in horror, but this time Terry kept moving. His eyes burned with determination as he leaned forward, and the chains tightened around his neck, making it difficult to breathe when he spoke again, “It’s my punishment to carry these chains.”

He threw his arms forward, yanking the chains so hard that they flew at Mickey with great force, landing at his feet. “They’re made from hatred and anger, and every grudge I carried. Each link a sin of thought or action, forged by me throughout my life… inch by inch… yard by yard, Mickey. How long are _your_ chains?!”

“No!” Mickey shook. He turned away from the hideous figure, then smacked himself across the cheek hard. “This isn’t real. Terry’s out fucking some whore and I just ate some bad food! This is food poisoning or bad whisky! That’s all it is! It’s a nightmare!” He smacked himself again, but the chains drew closer. He slapped himself harder, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck… _WAKE UP, ASSHOLE!”_

Now, Terry's wet and sticky breaths fell warm on Mickey’s neck; the smell of death permeating and invasive, sending icy chills straight down his spine and making him weak in the knees.

“When I was alive,” Terry growled, his broken jaw creaking and crackling in Mickey’s ear, “I was bursting with rage, just like you. I beat the shit out at anyone who didn’t see things my way, and I destroyed the hearts and souls of everyone close to me, including you. It was so easy to tear you down. To make you feel small and worthless. And now, I’m fucked. I’ll never have peace. I’ll never rest again! And if you don’t let go of that same bitterness and rage inside of you, this will be your fate as well!”

Mickey scrubbed at his eyes furiously and shook his head, denying the specter’s existence again. Surely it had to be a nightmare, because it would be a cold day in hell before Terry would ever have any regrets or concern for Mickey’s soul. Mickey squeezed his eyes shut, then slapped himself across the cheek again, but the vision of his dead father remained.

“This isn’t real,” he continued to mutter, pleading with himself to wake up.

“ _MIIIICKEY!_ There's no hope if you don’t listen to me!” Terry howled.

“Jesus Christ, just tell me what you want from me!”

A booming resonance shook the room and every bone in Mickey’s body so fiercely he thought it might break him apart. He screamed and shielded himself with his arms, then fell to his knees.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, ok!? Just tell me!”

“You will be visited by three spirits tonight,”

“I-I think I’ll pass, thanks.” Mickey dared to say.

Terry continued as if he no longer heard Mickey at all, “Without them, your soul will be lost. The first will come just after midnight tonight. The second to follow...”

“Can’t they all just come at once so I can be done with this shit?”

“The last will arrive before daybreak.” Terry leaned forward and growled, “I’m warning you, Mickey - listen to what they teach you. _This. Is. Your. Last. Chance_.”

Terry stepped back into the shadows, dragging the heavy chains with him, then faded away, taking the last of light with him. Mickey was plunged into a darkness and cold that seemed to swirl around him like a brisk winter wind. It carried with it the lamentations of regret and wails of sorrow and pain, and somewhere in the row, Mickey could hear his father’s agonizing cries. He was blind in the darkness, surrounded by the clinks and clangs of a million chains of unseen phantoms, their cries echoing inside his head. 

Mickey fell to his knees and crawled around searching in the dark for a way out of the nightmare. Overcome with fear, he squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears, but the dirge continued until at long last something cold and wet began to fall upon him. He shrank away and crawled backwards, his hands slipping in an icy powder. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on his own front lawn covered in snow; The phantoms now faded and their wailing nothing more than the cold Chicago wind blowing in a winter storm.

“Hey, Mickey… are you ok? Gotta be careful on that ice.” Mickey’s upstairs neighbor, Lily, was standing there with a cocktail in hand, dressed in a felt elf costume, complete with pointed shoes and ears, and jingle bells from head to toe. She looked every bit as ridiculous as she had last year, and the year before that.

Mickey’s jumped from the ground, befuddled and confused, and dusted the snow from his body. He pat himself on the chest and arms then grabbed a handful of snow and smashed it into his face, its icy wetness dripping down his cheek, convincing him that it was as real as the old brownstone before him. 

_It was only a dream_ , he thought to himself. He searched for signs of ghosts, then turned to Lily and asked, “Did you hear them? All those ghosts… did you see them here? Or my dad? Did you see my dad? Where did everyone go?”

Mickey was often grumpy and always grumbly, but he never seemed quite this crazy before. Lily eyed him with concern.

“They’re upstairs, silly. You sure you didn’t hit your head?” 

He pushed past her, spilling her drink on her costume.

“Hey!”

“I’m fine,” he said, ignoring her consternation, and began searching for the key to his apartment, “I’m fucking great.”

“Great... I guess,” She wiped alcohol from her costume. “I guess this means you’re not coming to my party again this year, huh?” She called after him, the jingle jangle of her bells reminding him of the chains and sending chills up his spine. 

He didn’t bother to look back before slamming his door and yelling, “No!”


	2. Ghost of Christmas Past

**STAVE TWO**

Three beers and half supreme pizza later, Mickey let out a long belch and began to feel like his old self. The encounter with Terry could only be explained as exhaustion from working long hours for weeks on end without a day off, and possibly that weird burrito he bought off the guy in the park. Little by little the whole thing began to fade like a dream along with the chill in his bones, and soon he'd forgot all about the warning he'd been given, looking forward only to getting a good night’s sleep without his usual 4 am wake up. 

A nighttime talk show droned on his TV as he dozed on the couch, only to be woken when his phone rang – Mandy, calling for the twentieth time that week to wish him a Merry Christmas, no doubt. It was one of the few times that they talked during the year, so Mickey decided he’d better answer or she would just continue to call until he did.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Jesus, Mickey, don’t be such an asshole... anyway, Merry Christmas,” She didn’t have that typical overexcited jolly tone, which usually annoyed the hell out of Mickey, but he attributed that to the late hour.

“Eh… bah fucking humbug, am I right?” He clicked the TV off then drained the last few drops from the beer next to him, cursing himself for not stopping at the liquor store on his way home. It was only then that he realized he didn’t even remember his drive home at all.

Mandy sighed, knowing he was never going to change his Grinchy ways. Mickey had hated Christmas since they were kids. He was only five when their mother had died just days before Christmas, and the holidays had never been the same for him after that. No doubt, the news Mandy had called to share with him wouldn’t make it any better.

“So, listen, Mickey, before you find an excuse to hang up, I have to tell you … something happened.”

“You get knocked up again? How many little runts does that make, three? Four? Shit, I can’t keep track anymore.”

“God, no, I didn’t get knocked up again… and I only have one kid, asshole. We sent you a picture, didn’t you get it?”

Mickey glanced at the unopened mail mixed in with the empty take out boxes that had gathered on his kitchen table. As good as he was at delivering mail and packages, he was shit about opening his own. 

“I don’t know… maybe. I haven’t opened my mail lately.”

“Or answered your phone,” she replied.

He rolled his eyes… _here comes the lecture_ , he thought.

“I’ve been calling you for two weeks. I almost flew out there myself, but I figured nothing would change, whether I told you this now or later.” 

“Ok, I’ll bite. What’s this news you keep trying to tell me?” He fluffed a pillow up behind him and pulled the knitted blanket from the back of the couch. He laid back, planning to cut the call as short as possible so he could get back to checking his eyelids for holes.

“Terry’s dead.”

Mickey sat straight up again, that icy fear returning to his bones and gripping his chest like a vice. He was frozen, unable to speak, and after a long minute of silence he realized he was barely breathing.

“Mickey…. Mickey, did you hear me? Terry’s dead. They found him at the house almost two weeks ago. Heart attack or something.”

“Fuck,” he whispered at last.

“I didn’t think you’d even give a shit,” Mandy said, surprised by Mickey’s solemn response. “There’s more though – the house. We gotta figure out what to do with it.”

“The fuck do I care. Keep it. Sell it. Burn it to the fucking ground for all I care.”

“That’s what I figured you’d say, but I can’t go back to Chicago to deal with this, so you need to figure it out. Why don’t you just keep it? The mortgage is paid, and you’d save a shitload of money on rent. You might have to have the place fumigated though – Terry was a fucking pig, so no telling what kind of mess he left there.”

“I’ll think about it.” The wind blew outside making the apartment’s cheap windows rattle and whine, once again putting Mickey on edge. “Did they bury him?”

“Cremated. Some of the guys he worked with got together for drinks at the bar, but fuck if I was going all the way down there to see his sorry ass off. I said my goodbyes years ago.”

Mickey nodded in agreement, “Listen, Mandy, I had a weird fucking day and I’m exhausted. Can I call you back about this tomorrow or something?”

“Sure, but don’t wait too long on the house. People find out it’s empty, and there’ll be a dozen meth heads living there before New Year’s. Merry Christmas, Mickey.”

“Yeah, yeah… you too.” He hung up, and laid back slowly, listening to the eerie creaking and moaning of the walls around him. He laid there a long time trying not to think of his encounter with Terry earlier in the night, but even as he drifted back to sleep, the image of Terry rotting and weighted down with chains haunted him into his dreams.

Neither the howling of the storm outside nor the noise coming from the party upstairs, seemed to rival the sawing snores coming from Mickey. He was sprawled out like a starfish with one leg hiked over the back pillows and his head dangling off the front of the couch, and somehow his remaining limbs were tangled in the knitted blanket. His dreams were filled with senseless scenes of the old Milkovich house where he seemed to be trapped and trying to escape some unseen force that was hunting him. He jerked and moaned restlessly but didn’t wake. In his dream, a skeletal hand reached out began banging on the heavy front door, splitting its wood as Mickey leaned against it to keep the ghoul away, but the knocking grew louder and more desperate.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Mickey snorted and snored, kicking one of the pillows off the couch as he fought to keep the door closed. 

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_ _KNOCK! KNOCK!_

“go th’fuc ‘way…” he mumbled.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

This time, the thunderous pounding came not from his dreams but from everywhere around him, and once again it shook him to his very bones, jolting him from sleep! Tangled in blankets and pillows, he struggled to sit up. All the while the pounding continued.

**_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_ **

“WHAT THE FUCK!!!”

He fell from the couch and kicked the blanket away from him as he crawled around in the dark trying to get his wits about him. The crack beneath his front door showed a sliver of light and the shadow of someone standing out in the hall, but it was the bending and bowing of the door against its frame that sent chills down his spine.

Fight or flight kicked in, and he jumped to his feet, grabbing the Louisville slugger by the door, ready to swing first and ask questions later. He yanked the door open, “ _I’m gonna fuck you up, asshole!”_

The yellow light from the hallway flooded in, illuminating the silhouette of a slight framed person standing there, seemingly quite calm and unconcerned by his greeting.

Mickey swung the bat, but it cut right through the person and hit the door frame on the other side. He dropped the bat and backed quickly away from the unworldly being standing before him.

“Holy mother of god, what the hell are you?”

“I never really took you for the religious type, Mickey.” A slender woman, no taller than he, stepped into his apartment as he fumbled backwards several more steps. 

“Wh-who are you? Wh-what do you want?”

She raised her hand up in front of her and magically a lamp in the living room buzzed to life. She wore faded jeans and a well-worn leather jacket, and had a threadbare scarf wrapped around her neck several times, and aside from the fact that Mickey could see right through her to the other side, she seemed as real as he was. She walked toward the open pizza box on the coffee table and bent down to sniff.

“Oh god! Is that from Mario’s? I loooove Mario’s pizza!” She sniffed again then sighed, “Fuck, I miss pizza.” 

Why was she so familiar? Mickey leaned closer, hoping to get a better look at her face, but her long stringy strands of hair hung in the way. Her hands were a pale white with smudges of dirt and nails bitten down to the skin, but what caught his eye were the jagged, deep red scars that started at her wrists and disappeared under the sleeves of her jacket.

“I almost got a job there once when I was 17, but I failed the drug test.” She turned to face him with a grin, “Can you believe that shit? They made me take a drug test for a job where all you have to do is put fucking pepperoni on bread. How screwed up is that?”

“Sandy?” Mickey rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Sandy, is that you?”

She smiled brightly, “The one and only. How you doin’, bitch. Long time no see.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, she began walking around his house, peeking into the bedroom and bathroom.

“Nice place you got here. You should maybe buy some furniture or a fucking plant... or something. Don’t you even have a bed?” she asked, looking at the clothes thrown on the floor of his empty bedroom.

Mickey smacked the side of his head a couple time then shook it and looked again. Sure as shit, his cousin – _correction! –_ his _DEAD_ cousin Sandy, who he hadn’t seen in almost ten years was walking around his kitchen!

“Ah, this is just sad, Mickey… paper plates? Really? How long have you lived here?”

“I got dishes... well, a dish.” He said defensively, then realized he was arguing with a ghost. “Sandy… I mean… what the actual fuck?”

It was as good an opener as any. 

Sandy spun around and laughed, “Come on, Mickey. Don’t tell me you’re not excited to see me? Hell, I’ve been looking forward to this all week, since I found out I got the gig!”

“What _gig_?”

“The gig… THE gig _…_ You know, the Ghost of Christmas Past gig. I’m here to take you for a walk down memory lane. Come on, I’ll show you.”

She grabbed him by his arm, making him yelp and tug away, but she gripped harder and dragged him toward the front door. 

“No! No! I don’t wanna go!” He wiggled and squirmed, trying to break free.

“Come on, Mickey. God damn, you always were a scrappy kid, weren’t you?” She yanked hard and slammed him into the wall and off his feet. He fell hard on his ass and rubbed his head. “Sorry, but I don’t have all night. Now, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way.” She held her hand out for him

He reached out warily and the moment their hands touched, a brisk wind began to blow. Sandy pulled him up and they both walked right through the wall of the apartment and into a winter storm blowing outside.

“Whooooaa, wait! I don’t have any shoes!” but no sooner said, he realized he didn’t feel the cold or snow at all.

“Don’t need ‘em. These are just shadows, Mickey.” She walked, pulling him reluctantly behind her. They moved at an unnatural speed through the neighborhood streets until the houses and lights were all a blur.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“To take a peek into your past and maybe figure out how you become such an insufferable asshole.”

In the distance, a sea of twinkling, colorful lights came into view. The closer they got, the more focused the lights, until Mickey realized they were looking at a Christmas tree. The living room they found themselves in was filled with the sounds of children laughing and Christmas carols playing on a radio, summoning up long forgotten childhood memories. 

_The room, all warm and cozy, had family photos on the walls, a Christmas tree in front of the picture window, and decorated garlands around the mantel and doorways. The smell of bacon wafted from the kitchen and a trail of spent wrapping paper covered the floor._

Sandy _let go of his arm. He inspected the room with curiosity, then the tree which was decorated with handmade ornaments. He searched the tree, looking for the ornament that belonged to him, and found it hanging on the back of the tree – a paper-mâché copy of his own hand. The front of it was painted every color of the rainbow in the hand of a five-year-old child; on the back was glued his school picture with the date and his name printed clearly below it._

“I know this place,” He said quietly.

_From another room, he heard the sweet voice of a woman calling, “Pancakes! Come get ‘em while they're hot!” Two young girls went running through the living room with dolls in hand, giggling and racing for their breakfast. They ran right past Mickey as if he wasn’t even there._

“It’s Ok. They can’t see us or hear us.”

Mickey followed them to the kitchen. A small, round woman stood at the fridge filling her arms with juice and milk and berries.

_“Where’s Mandy and Mickey? Someone go tell them it’s time to eat, please.”_

_One of the little girls rolled her eyes and sighed (Mickey remembered her as Becky or maybe Becca), “I don’t think they’re gonna come. Mickey’s in a mood again.”_

_The woman set the drinks and fruit on the table, then wiped her hands and spoke softly, “Britta, be nice. You have no idea what those two are dealing with right now. Show a little compassion.” She leaned over and kissed the girls head._

_“Sorry, Trudy.”_

_“I guess we can give them a few more minutes, then I’ll go get them. You two save them some pancakes, you hear?”_

“That’s Mrs. Bartlett… I remember now.” Mickey looked to Sandy for confirmation, “They sent us here after my mom died, when they couldn’t find Terry. Her husband’s name was Bart. Bart Bartlett.” Mickey laughed.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you remember that. You were so little, and you were only here for about a month. Your first Christmas without your mom.”

Mickey _went to the bedroom he and his sister had shared since going to stay with the Bartletts. It was a small room with a window that looked out onto the back yard, and little more than two small dressers and a set of bunk beds. There he found the two pint sized copies of himself and Mandy huddled close together on the top bunk._

_“Mickey, I’m hungry.” Mandy pleaded, but her sad blue eyes and tiny voice didn’t seem to break though the pinched brows and pouty lips on little Mickey’s face._

_“Dad’ll be here any time, Mandy. We can eat when we get home.” He crossed his arms defiantly and looked out the window into the yard to avoid looking at his sister._

_“You’ve been saying that all week.” The smell of bacon was overwhelming, and her belly grumbled._

_“Fine! Go eat then, you little baby!” He shoved her toward the bed rail, but Mandy didn’t cry. She looked to him again, wanting her big brother to go with her. Instead he folded his legs up in front of him and hung his head to ignore her._

“You were a real little shit, even then.” Sandy smirked. “How long were you planning to sit there?”

“I dunno… 'til my balls grew pubes, I guess.” Mickey answered. He stepped closer to his smaller self and stared at the scared little boy in front of him.

_The boy sat taller, the back of his neck tingling as if he could feel a presence there, but was quickly distracted when Mandy’s hunger won her over. She climbed down from the bunk and left him sitting alone with a grumbling belly, too angry at the world, even for pancakes. He tucked his head into his arms and gritted his teeth, determined not to cry._

“I was so pissed… at everyone and everything.” All the emotion came rushing back to him, just as real as they had been that day. He could feel that little boys pain as real as his own skin. “I hated my mom for dying. I hated my dad for not dying. And I hated Mandy for deserting me there.”

“She didn’t desert you, Mickey. She’s right in the other room, eating pancakes. She was only four years old.”

Mickey took a deep breath, biting his jaws down tight as that same anger ate away at him. It was just as if he were living it all over again.

“You know, Mandy never really forgave herself for leaving you there? One time, when I was spending the night at your house years later, and she mentioned that to me. She said she felt guilty for not taking better care of you when you were little.”

“You just said it yourself – She was just four. I was supposed to take care of her, and I never did.”

“Maybe. Or, maybe you were just supposed to be a little boy. Either way, she carries that with her, even now.”

_Mrs. Bartlett walked into the room carrying a plate of food and a dinner tray. Mickey made himself even smaller as if by sheer will he could disappear. She set the tray up next to the bottom bunk, then moved closer to the little boy._

_“I brought you some pancakes. See, I made a little Rudolph’s with chocolate chips for the eyes and a cherry for the nose.” She tried to reach out to comfort him, but he jerked away. “Aren’t you going to open your present? I think you might like it - Mandy helped me pick it out.”_

Mickey watched the scene unfold, the anger and humiliation building inside of him just as it had twenty-five years before, only this time there was also sadness for the little boy and the loss of his mother as well.

“Sandy, why are you showing me this? If these are just shadows that I can’t change, what’s the point?” He looked out the window as Mrs. Bartlett tried to talk to his younger self, but just like the past, he couldn’t hear her words beyond his anger.

“Because I wanted you to see something.”

Mickey looked at his cousin and waited for the answer.

“Look at Mrs. Bartlett, Mickey. Just look at her. She was a kind and good woman, and she genuinely cared about you, but you never gave her a chance.”

Mickey shook his head and argued, “No, that's not why we’re here. They didn’t give a shit about me or Mandy or any other shitty kid who stayed here. We were just two more runts who got pushed on her a week before Christmas. You know how foster homes are, Sandy! All they care about is the check they get from the state. _You_ of all people know how fucked up the system can be! Look what they did to you!” 

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and he felt like shit for saying it. Sandy looked at him for a long moment without speaking. She rubbed subconsciously at the stitched wounds on her wrist, then at long last rolled her eyes before returning to the real business at hand.

“This isn’t about me, Mickey. It’s about you. Mrs. Bartlett wasn’t like all the rest. Her and her husband tried to make you feel welcomed. She sat down with Mandy two days after you got here and asked what you wanted from Santa, then she spent every extra penny she had to get you the gift that you never even bothered to open.” Sandy pointed at the wrapped present tossed in the corner of the room. “You know, she still has that gift? Every year she puts it under the tree.”

“That’s fucking stupid. Why didn’t she just give it to someone else?”

“Because she bought it for _you_ , dumb ass.” Mickey scrubbed his hands down his face and moaned, and Sandy knew it was all getting a little to heavy for him. “All right, enough of this. Let me show you something else.” She gripped his shoulders and spun him round and round quickly, and when he stopped, they were back in the old brick house he’d grown up in on Trumball Ave.

_Mandy walked out of her room, now about twelve. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, her face painted in bright colors, her lips a glossy pink, and her skirt was so damn short it left little to the imagination. While there were no other signs of Christmas in the house – no tree, no lights, no gifts at all – the familiar glittery reindeer antler headband that Mandy had worn year after year told him it must be Christmas Day._

_“Get your fucking feet off my purse, asshole!” She kicked her cousin Iggy’s shin, making him yelp and lash out at her, but she jumped back before he made contact._

_“Where’s Mickey anyway.” Iggy couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but he was already drinking beer with several empties on the table in front of him._

_“The fuck should I know. You gonna be here when I get back?”_

_Iggy didn’t bother to look up from the game he was playing when he answered, “Guess so. I thought you was cooking a turkey or something like that?”_

Mickey laughed at the idea of Mandy cooking a turkey. “Swear to god, for as long as I could remember, Iggy parked his fat ass on our couch every holiday and said the same damn thing, ‘thought someone was feeding my ass today.’”

Sandy snickered, “Yeah, he did the same thing at our house too. He was always acting like he was starving, going to everyone’s house looking for food, but that boy doesn’t look like he’s ever missed a meal.”

_“Where the fuck am I supposed to get a turkey?” Mandy rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I think there’s some Ramen in the cupboard, or make a PB and J.”_

Mickey turned to Sandy impatiently, “Ok, I’m guessing you didn’t bring me here to watch this riveting conversation between these two assholes, so why the fuck are we here?”

_Sandy pointed to Mandy who ignored the ‘Keep the fuck out’ sign that hung on Mickey’s bedroom door. She pulled a small gift from her purse and tucked it underneath his pillow, then left and closed the door behind her._

“Do you remember what it was?” Sandy asked.

Mickey nodded. She had bought him a banged up stainless steel Zippo lighter that she found at an estate sale, engraved with the words “South Side Forever” on the front. He still carried it with him wherever he went.

“What did you get her? Sandy asked.

He shrugged, “I don’t remember.”

“Mmhmm. You mean you didn’t get her shit, right? No _shitty bath bombs_ or an _ugly fucking sweater?_ Yeah, I get it. A fucking waste of time and money, right?” Sandy threw his words back at him, but he didn’t even seem to care. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Mandy has never forgotten you at Christmas, but you can barely be bothered to answer your phone when she calls, and you know what, Mickey? She doesn't do it out of obligation. She does it because she thinks you’re worth her time.”

Sandy walked out of the room, leaving him there to think about what she had said for just a minute, then called impatiently, “Come the fuck on, Mickey! I don’t have all night.”

When he walked into the living room, it was no longer the Milkovich house in which they were standing. Now he was standing in the small bedroom on Wallace Street that he had spent many nights in as a youth. Behind him was a set of bunk beds and a toddler bed, with 3 of the Gallagher brothers sleeping soundly. In front of him was Ian Gallagher, just fourteen years old, lying there wide awake with a secret smile on his face.

Mickey moved closer to the bed, his heart swelled, and his eyes watered as he reached for Ian, but his hand went right through him.

“Ian.” The name was like a mantra that Mickey had repeated a million times. Whenever he felt lost, he’d said Ian’s name. If he was lonely, he cursed Ian’s name. And on the rare occasion he remembered what love felt like, he whispered Ian’s name. 

He had forgotten Sandy there beside him until she cleared her throat, making him step back and look away in shame. She held back a smirk but didn’t say anything more.

_A pebble hit the window and a light flashed. Ian threw his blankets aside and got out of bed. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt and slipped into his shoes before heading out to meet his midnight lover at the front door._

Mickey didn’t want to follow, knowing what would happen next, but Sandy went skipping away excitedly, “Come on! This is the fun part!”

“Oh, fuck you.” Mickey groaned, then followed behind.

 _In the living room, the two teenaged Ian and Mickey were already kissing and pawing at each other clothes. Mickey pushed Ian onto the couch and stood above him, out of breath and smiling. He rubbed seductively at his crotch and wiggled his brows, then said, “I got you a Christmas present._ “

_“Is it a woody? Ian joked._

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve seen enough!” Mickey scowled, pulling Sandy by her arm toward the front door. Having never come out to his own family, his current embarrassment was overwhelming. His face heated up and he began to perspire, expecting her to start harassing him at any moment. The Milkovich’s weren’t exactly a PRIDE friendly bunch of people.

Sandy slapped his hand away and laughed, “What’s the problem here, Mickey?” He flipped her off angrily. “Aah, I get it. You thought I didn’t know, right? That you’re gay.”

He walked away, unable to look at the boys or her again. His heart raced and the panic he used to live with at the thought of his dad finding out returned.

“It’s ok, I swear. I’m gay too… Or, at least I was.” She chuckled.

He dared to look at her, thinking she was just mocking him, but she didn’t seem to be. 

“Even if I wasn’t, it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s damn hard to find love in this world, so grab it with two fucking hands when you do – that’s always been my motto.” She nodded for him to come back into the room, which he did reluctantly.

The two boys were making out and things were heating up quickly, and Sandy could see that he still didn’t want to be there.

“Why is this so hard for you to watch?” She asked.

“It’s not,” he lied. The last thing he wanted was to stand there with his cousin watching his younger self take it up the ass, but she was hell bent on seeing it through, and he was stuck there with her to the end. “You some kind of pervert or something? Get off watching two boys go at it? I don’t wanna watch this shit.”

“That’s not why we’re here. Just watch.”

She sat in a nearby chair and watched the boys kiss with a sappy smile on her face. It was clear, the way they touched each other so gently, that they were truly in love. 

“My god, you two were so young when you met.” She wondered out loud. “You’re so lucky.”

Mickey huffed, “Yeah, real fucking lucky. Didn’t mean anything, bitch. We fucked, we fought, we broke up. Don’t wet yourself. It ain't a fucking Hallmark movie.”

But even he could see that wasn’t true. The boys laughed, and whispered, and Mickey could actually feel Ian’s hands and lips on his body, even so many years later. The love and desire he had felt all those years before welled up inside of him again, and he longed to reach out and touch Ian one more time.

_“I love you, Ian.”_

_Those four small words escaped Mickey in between Ian’s kisses, and both boys froze. Mickey’s heart raced and he searched for something to say to negate the unintentional confession, but the way Ian looked back at him soon made him want to say it again and again._

_“I love you too, Mickey.”_

Mickey’s heart soared. He remembered exactly what it had felt like to hear Ian say those words to him that first time, and a hundred times after that. Everything old was new again, and the love he had carried for Ian all those years before came bubbling to the surface again.

Sandy touched his arm gently, “We can go now.”

“Huh? What? Why?”

 _Not now! Not yet,_ he wanted to tell her. _This is the good part!_ But she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and moved him away.

“I thought you didn’t want to watch the rest.” She laughed. “Besides, that’s all we came for.”

“I don’t understand this. What exactly are we supposed to be doing anyway, watching all these shadows of my past? None of these are connected. What lesson am I supposed to be learning here?” He grumbled. “I could be sleeping, but instead you’re dragging my ass through some random This Is Your Life episode. I was there the first time – I don’t need to do it all again.”

They walked out the front door and onto the baseball fields where Ian and Mickey had spent so many nights getting high and fucking. 

Sandy sighed, “Are you really so dense that you can’t see the connection?”

_In the distance, a seventeen-year-old Mickey was sitting on the bleachers smoking while Ian did pull ups nearby. Mickey was bundled in a jacket and scarf, but Ian had little more than a long sleeve shirt on._

“Fuck you, I’m not dense.” He pointed at the boys in the dugout. “Tell me what _they_ have to do with some sentimental foster bitch I met when I was five.”

Sandy reached over and shoved Mickey hard, making him trip over himself and curse.

“You need to rent yourself a fucking heart, man. How can you not see what I’m showing you? This is _love_ Mickey. L.O.V.E. Love! Has it been so damn long that you can’t even recognize what it feels like?” She pointed at the boys, “Look at you. You’re sitting there freezing, but you came out here because he wanted to come to the dugouts at two in the morning. You were sound asleep and he couldn’t fall asleep, so when he started getting dressed, you got up and followed, remember?”

“Just because he’s a fucking dumbass with insomnia doesn’t mean –“

“Doesn’t mean what? Are you so bitter that you can’t even admit how much you loved him, even now? I know you can feel it, Mickey. Lie to yourself all you want, but I know. Just look at him. That boy… Ian… he was the love of your life. Why can’t you just admit that?”

“Fuck him.” Mickey said bitterly.

“Actually, it looks like he’s about to fuck you,” she grinned.

_Ian turned Mickey to face the wall and started to undo his own zipper. He wrapped his arm around Mickey’s waist to help him with his own zipper, but something in Mickey’s jacket caught his attention._

_“What’s that?” Ian pat Mickey jacket where the lump was._

_“That? Nothing.” Mickey pushed his hand away and tried to get back to business, but Ian wasn’t to be swayed. Ian tried to reach inside Mickey’s jacket, but Mickey wrestled and pushed him away, laughing._

_“Come on, Mickey! Let me see!”_

_“No!” Mickey zipped his jacket and crossed his arms, then nodded to leave, “Come on. It’s too cold to fuck out here anyway. Let’s go home.”_

_“Mickeeeey. Mick….” Ian followed like a puppy, begging to see what he had hidden in his jacket, pushing him gently as they went and egging him on._

_“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re annoying, you know that! Fine!” It was no use – Mickey was a sucker for Ian._

_Ian ran a circle around him excited as Mickey unzipped and pulled the bag from his jacket. “It’s … it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.” He handed the bag to Ian, “Merry Christmas.”_

_“It’s mine?” Ian asked. In all the years he’d known Mickey, he had never received a gift from him. He looked at the bag curiously, but didn’t take it, “I thought you hated Christmas, and gifts, and all that shit.”_

_“Listen, asshole. If you don’t want it, then…”_

_Ian snatched the bag, “No! I do! Give it to me!”_

_Mickey shifted from foot to foot as Ian took his sweet time, feeling the details of the gift through the bag, his face contorted comically and curiously at what it could possibly be._

_“Is… is that a doll?” He asked at last. “Did you buy me a doll?”_

_Mickey rolled his eyes and attempted to snatch the bag back, but Ian was too quick._

_“Give it back. I told you it was stupid. I wasn’t even sure I was going to give it to you.”_

_“No, fuck that. It’s mine,” Ian ripped the bag open and pulled out a Woody Cowboy doll. He looked at Mickey curiously._

_“I thought it was funny. You know… a Woody._ _Like your dick?”_

_Ian smiled. It was the best gift he’d ever gotten, hands down._

_“Oh, and it talks. Pull the string.”_

_Ian pulled the string and Woody declared, “There’s a snake in my boot!”_

_Mickey laughed, “Get it… there’s a snake in my boot… booty. Like your dick is up my ass?”_

_Ian cracked up and pulled the string again, “Somebody’s poisoned the waterhole!”_

_Again, the double entendre made them both laugh. Ian pulled it again._

_“You’re my favorite deputy!”_

_He looked at Mickey, “I love it, Mickey. It’s perfect.”_

_Mickey shied away then pointed to Woody’s boot, “I, uh, painted his shoe for you too.”_

_Ian turned it over and in black child-like print was painted, “Ian”_

“Ah, shit, that was sweet.” Sandy said softly, watching the boys. “He really loves that, Mickey.” 

Mickey swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. It was just a joke, you know?” He watched Ian pull the string again, laughing each time Woody spoke, “but he really did love that doll.” The love between the two boys filled Mickey’s heart.

Sandy gave him a few more minutes, then said, “Come on. We have a couple more stops to make.”

The wind blew around them, swirling snow so thick that the two boys in front of them were lost. When it finally stopped, Sandy and Mickey were standing inside the Alibi bar.

_The place was hopping, with patrons lined up at the bar and in every table, and Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing on the jukebox. Behind them the door opened, and in walked a young Mickey, not yet twenty years old._

_“HEY! Mickey! How’s it going, man?” The owner, Kevin, yelled out. He was dressed in a long pair of velvet Santa pants with black suspenders and a furry Santa hat, and his bare muscular chest was oiled and shiny. His wife was wearing scarcely more, but equally festive._

_Mickey kicked the snow from his feet and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck, all the while holding the front door open and allowing the cold brisk air to fly in._

_“Shut the door! My balls are gonna freeze to this bar stool.” Ian’s dad, Frank, was leaning drunkenly against the bar. “Oh, hey, it’s little Mickey. Where’s my kid? I assume he’s still chasing you all over town like a lost little puppy. I bet you can’t even take a shit without that boy trying to sniff up your ass. He’s a needy one. Gets that from his mother.”_

_“Shut the fuck up, Frank.”_

_“That any way to say Merry Christmas? When Ian gets here, I’ll let you two by me a beer and make up for it.”_

_Mickey rolled his eyes, then looked out the front door and yelled, “Ian, hurry up and get your ass in here!”_

_Seconds later, Ian came running in behind him. “My hat blew away,” he explained._

_Mickey pulled the hat from his own head and smooshed it down over Ian’s._ _“There. You can have mine.”_

The boys made their way to the bar, walking right through Sandy and Mickey. Mickey shuddered at the tingle that ran through his body.

“Whoa, what the fuck was that!”

“Weird, right? It happens now and then.” She didn’t waste a minute and pulled him along, “Come on, it’s a Christmas party! Don’t be a party pooper - let’s have some fun!”

Sandy took off into the crowd, but Mickey stayed at the bar. He spent the next twenty minutes staring into the once familiar faces and listening to their conversations. Their stupid banter and bullshit making him laugh, and he suddenly missed them with such despair. He had never thought of any of them as friends when they were in his life, but now looking back at the way Ian and Mickey talked and joked and drank with them, he realized that those bar patrons were puzzle pieces of an entire life he walked away from.

Sandy sat back and watched but didn’t interrupt. It was the first time in too many years that Mickey had laughed so genuinely, even though he was only a spectator to the party. He spied Sandy watching him and went to her.

“Ok, let me guess. We’re here so you can show me some bullshit version of the perfect south side Christmas that I apparently forgot, am I right?”

“Not exactly, but close. It is a pretty great party.” She nodded toward Ian with a worried look in her eyes. “Watch.”

For the first time Mickey noticed his erratic behavior.

_Ian couldn’t sit still. His eyes darted all over the room and he was talking a mile a minute, twice as much as he normally did, bouncing from conversation to conversation like he was doped up. Mickey was busy in his own conversations, and didn’t notice the way Ian was behaving, or if he did, he dismissed it as having a good time._

“He’s manic.” Mickey mumbled, the alarm bells sounding within him. He looked at Sandy for confirmation and she nodded. “He’s fucking manic and drinking. He can’t drink on his meds. Why the fuck didn’t I see that? Why isn’t anyone paying attention?” He was following Ian again, waving his hands in front of his face and yelling, “IAN! Ian, take your god damn pills!”

“He can’t hear you, Mickey. Besides, he doesn’t have any pills yet. He still doesn’t know.” She shrugged apologetically, “Don’t beat yourself up… you didn’t know either.”

_Mickey finally noticed Ian getting heated up over a conversation with some guy twice his size, and he stood to go save him before he got himself into more trouble than he was ready for._

_“Come on, big guy. Let’s go get some air.”_

_“Yeah, fuck off!” The guy in the booth yelled._

_Mickey turned back and squared up on him, pushing Ian toward the door and out of the argument._

_“You talking to me, or my friend here, because I will fuck you up so bad your mother won’t recognize you, got it?” Mickey threatened._

_A few people at the bar turned to watch the commotion. Kevin gave the guy a little shake of his head, warning him not to tango with Mickey. The guy shuffled in his seat, then looked away._

_“Yeah, that’s what I thought, asshole.” Mickey turned and pulled Ian toward the back alley for a smoke, “Fucking little bitch.”_

_“Who me?” Ian asked, already forgetting he had been the cause of the excitement in the first place._

_“No, not you.” Mickey pulled his cigarettes out and followed Ian into the alley._

Sandy and Mickey followed.

“What are we here for? What am I supposed to get from this shit, huh? Ian’s fucking drunk and manic, and there’s nothing I can do about it. How the fuck am I supposed change that now?”

_In the alley, Ian and Mickey passed a cigarette between them._

_“You ok? Seem kinda hyped up in there.”_

_“Yeah, I feel great! Never felt better, actually.”_

_“Ok.” Mickey looked at Ian suspiciously, but decided there was nothing wrong with having a good time. “So, I wanted to ask you something. Thought I’d wait for Christmas and all, but what’s a few hours, right?”_

_Mickey sudden seriousness settled Ian down. “Sure. What is it?”_

_“I’ve been saving some money, and… I was thinking about getting my own place. You know, someplace away from all this shit. Away from all these people and my dad. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come with me?”_

_Ian looked at him oddly, “I like these people, Mickey. They’re our friends.”_

_“Fuck that. No, they’re not. They’re a bunch of drunks. They don’t know shit about us.”_

_Ian knew what Mickey meant by that. “We could just tell them. You know? I mean, why not just go in there an tell them that we’re together? Right now?” He reached for the door, but Mickey yanked him back._

_“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you know what my dad would do to me if he found out? You know what he’d do to_ you?” _Mickey tossed his cigarette, irritated with himself more than Ian._

_He had struggled with the idea of asking Ian to move in with him while still expecting Ian to keep their secret. Ian’s family knew about them, but as far as Mickey could tell, no one else had no reason to suspect. After all, the two of them had been friends most of their lives, and where was it written that you had to be gay to have a gay friend?_

_“Well, won’t he find out if we move in together?” Ian asked._

_“No. He won’t fucking know shit, because I’m not telling him, and neither are you. And neither is anyone else, got it? If I never see Terry again as long as I live, I’ll be a happy man. I don’t need his approval to…” he stopped talking._

_“To what, Mickey? Fuck another guy?”_

_“Fuck you!” He pushed past Ian to go back into the bar, “Let’s go inside.”_

_“Mickey, wait!" Ian blurted. "Yes.”  
_

_Mickey stopped short and waited._

_“Yes, I’ll move in with you. A-a-and we can just keep things the way they are. No one needs to know. I mean, except my family, of course. But they already know, so you don’t have to worry about them.”_

_Mickey turned back but couldn’t bring himself to look at Ian. He was ashamed for not having enough courage to announce to every asshole in the world that he was in love with another man. He wanted nothing more than to just love Ian, the way anyone else was able to love someone, but he wasn’t ready. Someday, maybe he’d be brave enough._

_Ian kissed him. “I don’t care what anyone else knows about us, Mickey. If this is the way you need to do this, then I’m in. I’m all in.”_

“Yes! God damn, Mickey, you lucky son of a bitch!” Sandy said all sappy and smiles, socking him in the arm. “Look at him! He’s fucking beautiful, and he’s yours!” He rubbed his arm and practically growled at her. “You had it all… I can’t believe you just let that shit go.”

“I fucking did not!” He stated defiantly.

“Oh really? Watch.” With the touch of her hand, the scene in front of them disappeared and a new scene materialized.

_This time it was a year later, and Ian was sitting outside on the front steps of the Gallagher house early one Christmas morning. His eyes were red and teary, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days._

“No! NO, god damn it! I don’t want to fucking see this shit!”

He tried to walk away, but no matter how many steps he took, he was still standing right in front of the Gallagher’s house. His heart drummed in his chest when he saw his younger self rounding the corner, running as fast as his legs would carry him back to Ian, and every damn ounce of heartbreak from that day came with him. 

Mickey turned to Sandy and pleaded, “Please, Sandy. I’m fucking begging you. I’ve seen enough. I can’t do this again.” His lips trembled and his eyes burned. He squeezed them shut, not wanting to look, but it wasn’t enough – he could still hear them. He could still _feel_ them. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried to block it all out, but their voices echoed inside of him.

_“You don’t owe me anything, Mickey.”_

_“I love you.”_

The words hit Mickey like a ton of bricks, a woeful wail escaping him, “Please, Sandy, no more!”

_“The hell does that even mean?”_

_“It means we take care of each other.” Mickey pleaded._

Mickey covered his ears and fell to his knees, but the words and emotions remained.

_“I don’t want you sitting around, worrying… watching me. Waiting for me to do my next crazy shit.”_

_“...it means thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit.”_

Mickey rocked back and forth, gasping and begging for reprieve. His heart was bursting through his chest and every muscle went weak. He tried so damn hard not to feel every single emotion he had felt that day so long ago, and for all the years that had followed, but it all rushed back like flood gates opening. The pain was unfathomable and the deep pitiful sorrow he had tried to cover up with long, exhausting days at work seeped back into his bones once again, breaking him. 

“I don’t want to do this… I don’t want to do this again, please stop.”

_“You gonna marry me?”_

“Yes… yes, I’ll fucking marry you, just make it stop!” Mickey cried out.

Sandy knelt beside him and placed her hand across his shoulder to comfort him, and this time he didn’t push her away. She wrapped her arm around him and held him as he cried, begging her to make it stop.

“Shh shh shhhhh… it’s ok. Mickey… it’s ok. It’s over.”

He had been so lost in sorrow that he hadn’t even realize the ghostly shadow that had haunted him for years had faded away. The boys were gone now, and all that was left was a cold winter’s day on the Gallagher’s front walk.

“Why did you do this… why did you bring me here?” He looked around desperately, afraid of where she might take him next, but there they remained, on their knees.

“This was your last Christmas together-“

He reared his head and scowled at her with fiery eyes, “I FUCKING KNOW THAT! Don’t you think I fucking know that? Why did you do this?”

She gave him a minute to catch his breath and calm down. “You have to try to understand how hard that was for him, too, Mickey. He loved you so much.”

“He fucking LEFT ME!” He pushed her away and jumped to his feet, looking for Ian once more, but he was long gone. So were the Christmas lights from the front window and any sign of life from inside the Gallagher house.

“He did it for you, Mickey! Don’t you see that? He loved you so much, he did it for you! Fuck, he STILL loves you!”

“He told me to fuck off, and then he disappeared,” he argued.

“You disappeared, too! You gave him the space he asked for, remember? And why did you do it?” 

Mickey ran his hands though his hair and squeezed his head as if he could squeeze the entire illusion away so easily, but she kept talking.

“Because you _loved_ him, Mickey! That’s what you do, when you love someone. You give them what they need, even if it fucking kills you to do it!”

“Fuck you!” He ran up the front steps of the Gallagher house and tried to go through the door but ran face first into solid wood. “Son of a bitch!” He tried the knob, but it was didn't budge. 

Sandy was beside him talking, “You know I’m right. You can’t blame everything that happened on Ian. All these years you’ve convinced yourself that it was his fault, and you’ve hated him for it. In the beginning it was just a little space, but when he left Chicago, you fucking hated him. Admit it!”

“I’m done talking about this, bitch!”

“So, what did you do? You gave up on him! You let go and _you_ moved away. You changed your number and made it impossible for him to find you, AND THEN you said FUCK the rest of the world! You left, too, Mickey, so you can’t spend the rest of your life blaming him for how your life turned out or for breaking your heart! He was just a kid!”

He spun to face her, spitting his words through gritted teeth, “I was a fucking kid, Sandy! I was a fucking kid too!”

She nodded, then spoke more softly, “I know that. It wasn’t your fault either. And it wasn’t his.” The words were like water suffocating the fire that was burning inside of Mickey. “Did you know he came back for you?”

“No, he did not.” He shook his head, unwilling to believe it. “No, I would have known.”

“It was too late. You were already gone and dead set on never wasting another minute thinking about Ian again. But he looked for you. He still searches the web trying to find you, but you’ve registered everything you own under your middle name.”

“It’s still my name.” He retorted.

“Is it? Alex? Do you really think Ian’s gonna go searching for someone named Alex when you clearly argued with him that one time that your middle name was not _Alex_? Come on, Mickey.”

Mickey shook his head. He didn’t want to believe it. He had waited too long and wasted too many days being heartbroken, and he wasn’t ready to admit that maybe things could have been fixed between them.

“You’re wrong.” He turned and ran out the front gate. “He didn’t look for me. I would have known.”

“Mickey, wait up! You can’t keep running away from this, Mickey. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to face the truth.”

He ran faster, her voice fading behind him.

“Mickey! You can’t live your life running away!”

He refused to hear anything else she had to say. The ground beneath him sped past, his feet growing colder and colder in the snow and ice, and the day growing darker around him. Seconds later the icy cold air turned to snow and wind, and the neighborhood changed from small houses to brownstone apartments. Mickey slowed, his arms wrapped tight around him against the cold, and he realized he was back in front of his own apartment, no longer trapped in the shadows of Christmas Past.


	3. Ghost of Christmas Present

**STAVE THREE**

He stood in front of his apartment shivering, wary of walking back inside to whatever might be waiting for him, but knowing he couldn’t possibly stand out in the storm much longer.

“Mickey! Come inside, you silly nilly! What are you doing out there without a jacket?” 

His neighbor Lily stood in the doorway with a cocktail in hand and dressed in her ridiculous elf costume, complete with the pointed shoes and ears... just as she had been earlier in the night, with jingling bells from head to toe. Mickey looked around confused, then back at Lily. He walked to the door slowly, taking care not to slip and fall in the snow again. He was certain that he must be losing his mind because everything that had happened to that point was just too outrageous to be explained any other way.

Lily waited for him to get closer, then pushed the front door of the brownstone open, revealing not the dim lit foyer he was expecting, but a wondrous holiday scene of greens and golds and reds. A generous Christmas feast was laid on a long table before him and a roaring fire burned in a fireplace that stood where his apartment door used to be. She pushed him in, then slammed the door behind them.

“Welcome home! I knew if I was patient, you’d come around to the idea of coming to one of my Christmas parties!” 

He looked at her with wild eyes, making her giggle.

“I know, it’s all a little strange, right? But here I am, the Ghost of Christmas Present, at your service!” Her felt costume morphed into a rich, long green velvet robe with gold embroidered details that flowed behind her. Her pointed ears went away, a wreath of holly appeared on top of her head, and her face twinkled of glitter.

“Of course you are.” Mickey said. 

He would have laughed, lest he might sound like the madman he believed himself to be. He held his hands palms up in front of him and surrendered.

“Lily, I've had the weirdest fucking night of my life. Can we just get on with this already? Whatever you have to show me, I’m ready to go.”

“Just take hold of my robe.” She held her arm forth and he reached out and held fast. The mistletoe and berries and turkeys and hams and pies and punch and the roaring fire all vanished immediately. 

Once again, Mickey was standing in the middle of Michigan Avenue as traffic whizzed by on either side of them. He jumped out of the way of a bus coming right at him only to step in front of a truck splashing slush and running headlong into him on the other side. 

“Augh!” he squealed, but the truck went right through him.

Lily laughed and walked through traffic to the sidewalk as he ran to catch up. The storefronts and office buildings were just as he left them with their dirty slush splashed windows and icy sidewalks. The bustle of people came from every direction, and spiked Mickey’s tension. Even on his best day, he still hated the crowds, especially when he was trying to get someplace in a hurry.

“Just look at it! It’s all so beautiful!” Lily raised her arms and turned in a circle, showing off the city as if she had created it herself.

Mickey rolled his eyes and looked at her as if she’d lost her fucking mind.

“Yeah, sure. Fucking gorgeous. See that guy over there near the hotel? He pisses on the sidewalk as people walk by. Fucking bum. Begs me for money every time I see him, then fucking pisses on my shoes when I go by. Real fucking beautiful.”

“So… have you ever given him any?”

“Money? Fuck no. He can get a job just like anyone else. Plenty of places hiring, and I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of scrubbing a toilet if that’s what it takes.”

_Lily walked over to the homeless man just twenty feet from where Charlie the door man was standing, and smiled at him. He looked her directly in the eyes and smiled back warmly._

_“Hello. I’m Lily. This is Mickey.”_ She looked around, but Mickey was still standing far away. _“Mickey, get over here.”_

_The homeless man looked at Mickey and pinched his brows together, all too familiar with Mickey's nasty attitude. Mickey rolled his eyes and scowled back._

_“Have you eaten today?” Lily asked._

_The man looked as if he might hurt himself thinking about whether he had eaten that day, then shook his head, “Don’t think I have.”_

_Lily reached into her robe and pulled out a roll of bills. The man’s face lit up in anticipation. She pulled several bills from the roll and handed it to him._

_“Oh come the fuck on! You know he’s just gonna shoot it up his arms or buy booze!” Mickey protested._

_The man held his arms out in front of him and pulled his sleeves back to show he was clean._

_“I haven’t touched a bottle in twenty years!” He added defensively.  
_

_“Oh sure you haven’t!”_

_Lily cleared her throat and gave Mickey a warning look, then handed the man a few more bills. “Merry Christmas. You put this away and keep it safe, Ok?”_

_The man nodded enthusiastically and tucked the bills into his shirt._

Lily and Mickey walked away. He looked back at the man, then asked, “Wait a minute. Why could he see us?”

“Well, as you might put it, because he’s batshit crazy. Haven’t you ever seen him out here talking to himself before? He does it all the time.”

Mickey had indeed seen him walking down the sidewalks having conversations with himself.

“He’s bipolar, actually, and has never been lucky enough to have someone in his life to help him get medication or even a job that he can keep long enough to pay for a decent place to sleep.”

Mickey looked back at the man again, his heart aching. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt for only seeing him as a filthy homeless man or if he was worrying about what had become of Ian.

“I didn’t know.”

“You never asked. You never ask anyone how they're doing, do you? You just keep people at a safe distance where they can’t see you and you can’t see them. It’s a shame really... but I see you.”

Lily walked down the sidewalk calling out “Merry Christmas” to each person she passed, making herself visible to them. Everyone smiled back and returned the greeting.

“See how simple it is, Mickey? All you have to do is smile at someone who is having a bad day, and it’ll lift their spirits. This man in the blue jacket… he lost his wife two days ago.”

The man came toward them, his eyes down on his feet as he walked. Lily called out in her sweet singsong voice, “Merry Christmas!” 

He looked up and a warm smile replaced his the sad look on his face, “Merry Christmas to you too! Love your costume.”

“Oh, this old thing. It’s just something I threw on.” She said playfully as they passed. She looked at Mickey, “See how easy that was to make him smile?”

“What’s the fucking point?” 

Lily stopped short and glared, then scolded him, “The _freaking_ point is that just this year alone 243 people said Merry Christmas to you, and not _once_ did you say it back to them! Not once, Mickey! Shame on you! Even that man, as sad as he is right now, looked up from his own heavy heart and returned the greeting, but you just scowl and growl and flip people off when they try to speak to you.”

She started walking again, this time speaking in her normal sweet musical tones, “Just look around. All the decorations, the snow, the people, the packages, the music… it’s all here for you to enjoy every day, but you can’t even look up from your own two feet to notice that life is all around you. If you don’t find a way to move forward now while you're still breathing, you’re going to end up just like your dad, doomed to walk this earth, dragging all of your regrets with you for eternity, and believe me it’s not as exciting as it’s cracked up to be.”

He remembered the wailing and painful screams that had haunted him after Terry had faded away and shuddered. Soon the street changed from tall city buildings to wide lawns covered in snow and spacious ranch houses with festively lit yards. 

“Where are we?”

“You don’t recognize this neighborhood?”

Mickey had delivered all over the city, but he had yet to see a neighborhood quite like this one. He shook his head trying figure it out.

“No, you wouldn’t. You’ve never been here.” Lily pointed to the house on her left. “This is the one.” 

They walked through the front door. Inside was a typical middle American family home decorated for the holidays. A small child, not older than two or three went running by with an even smaller dog giving chase. Lily looked to Mickey for reckoning, but he just shook his head.

They walked to the back of the house where a group of people were visiting. There was music playing, a large TV on mute with a football game playing, several people standing nearby and yelling at players while everyone else was engaged in drinks and conversations. Mickey didn’t recognize a single person there.

_“HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS! I can’t believe he fumbled that!”_

_Mickey looked back at the group near the TV and saw his sister Mandy there, yelling at the TV._

_“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s it. There’s no way they’re coming back from that with 2 minutes left. That’s it… I’m done. Let’s get dessert.”_

_The rest of the football fans nodded and grumbled over their team’s apparent loss and everyone returned to the dining room where Mandy had pies and cakes out for the tasting._

_“Mands, you’ve out done yourself!” The man beside her kissed her cheek, and Mickey watched in wonder as his little sister played the domestic goddess that she was never born to be._

“What the fuck. When did Mandy learn to cook?” He asked, looking at all the food on the kitchen counters and the desserts lined up on the dining room table.

“Shhh! No one cares about that.” Lily said, leaning into the conversation in front of them. “Listen.”

_“Well, the Little Paris Bakery outdid themselves, but I’ll take all the credit.” She pecked him on the cheek._

“Aha!” Mickey said, “That bitch doesn’t know how to cook ramen!” Lily slapped him on the arm and hushed him again.

_The man beside her tapped his beer bottle with a fork to get everyone’s attention._

_“I’d like to make a toast! After all these years of begging this lady to marry me and trying to trap her into staying with me by getting her pregnant and putting her name on the mortgage, she finally said YES!”_

_The room erupted in laughter and cheers, everyone raising their drinks to congratulate the happy couple. “To Mandy and Tim!”_

_“So when’s the big day?”_

_Tim looked to Mandy for an answer._

_“Well, I was thinking spring so my brother might be able to be here,” she hesitated, “but, we're not sure he’ll be able to make it, so we may just go ahead and move it to the end of January. No reason to wait, right, honey?”_

_Tim kissed her forehead, “We can wait as long as you want,” he said, then added quietly, “As long as it’s not another seven years.”_

“I thought they were already married.” Mickey admitted.

_“How is Mickey? That’s his name, right?”_

Mickey _looked at the woman asking. It dawned on him that his sister still talked about him and kept him in her conversations if these people knew his name. He felt ashamed because he hadn’t mentioned Mandy’s name to another soul in years._

_“He’s Ok. You know our dad recently passed away, and I finally got a hold of him to let him know, so I’m a little worried about him. I’ll give him a call again tonight to see how he is.”_

_“How’s his business going?” Someone else asked._

“How the fuck do these people know so much about me?”

“Because your sister isn’t an insufferable asshole like you.” Lily said, smiling sweetly as if she hadn’t just cursed at him. 

When he turned back to the conversation, Mandy had gone into auto-mode defending him for his lack of participation and interest in her life, or his own for that matter.

_“He’s just busy, and I get it. When you have your own business it runs you ragged for years with the overtime and balancing finances and stuff.”_

_Tim spoke up, “He's had that business for almost ten years now. I know you love him, Mandy, but your brother doesn't exactly reciprocate those feelings, or even remembering you exist, for that matter.”_

_Mandy gave him a warning look, then softened a bit, “Yeah, but…” she tucked her head and shrugged, “I love him. He’s my brother. And what better reason to love someone than the fact that they need it the most?”_

For the first time in such a very long time, Mickey looked at his little sister. She looked happy, with hardly a trace of their miserable childhood haunting her as it did him. She had escaped their dad’s long reach and the south side, and somehow built a life so far from the one she had that it barely left its shadow on her at all. For years, she had reached out to Mickey trying to include him in her new life, but he had pushed her away like everything else.

“Mickey… Let’s go.” 

Mickey took one last look at his sister, wishing he could go back and fix what had been broken so many years before, but it was too late now. He knew it was too late. Too late for her. Too late for Ian. Too late to change every mistake he had made, so what was the point of anything Lily or Sandy had to show him.

Reluctantly, he laid his hand on Lily’s robe. The room in front of him spun to a blur then came to a stop outside the South Side Boys & Girls Club. Mickey recognized the place from his youth. He’d gotten summer lunches there as a child and sold weed there as a teen.

“Holy shit, is that Mr. Dawson? Look how old he is. He was a hundred and fifty when I was a kid. I can’t believe he’s still working here.”

“They don’t have a lot of money to hire new people here, and Mr. Dawson didn’t exactly have a retirement package with this job, so he’ll probably be here another hundred and fifty years, or until he croaks. Which ever comes first.” Lily said matter of factly. 

They walked into the club where a long line of women and children were waiting a turn to enter the gymnasium.

“What’s going on here?” Mickey asked.

“This is that fundraiser that your hotel manager asked you to donate to.” 

Lily pointed to the front of the line where Rhonda was dressed in a festive sweater and a necklace that blinked with colorful Christmas bulbs.

“You don't remember this? Your mom used to bring you here to pick out gifts when you were little. She didn’t have money to buy you anything, but always managed to find a toy for you to play with, or maybe a jacket and mittens that you could take home.”

Mickey shook his head. 

He remembered the police coming to his house to tell them that his mother had been hit by a car and killed on her way home from work at the diner. He remembered them finding only Mickey and Mandy at the house alone, but no sign of Terry anywhere. He remembered being taken to the police station, then next to the foster home, and he remember a month later when the case worker delivered him back to hell at the Milkovich’s front door… but he couldn’t remember his mother’s face. 

Lily sighed. “I’m sorry.” She knew she was there only to show him scenes of Christmas Present, but Mickey was struggling to remember the first person who had loved him unconditionally, so she decided to break the rules just a little. “Give me your hands and close your eyes.”

He hesitated, but she grabbed his hands anyway.

"Shut your eyes." She commanded. 

_Instantly his mother was sitting before him laughing. “Wonderful, Mikhailo! Sing it again!”_

_A tiny little boy beside him began to sing, “Da itchy bitchy piiiida wan up da wadu pout! Down came da wain an wash da pida ow! ”_

Mickey _looked back at his mom, her blue eyes even bluer than his own, and her long wild black hair kissing her pink cheeks and pale skin. When she smiled, she looked just like Mandy, and when she spoke, she had an accent he didn’t recognize at all. His heart ached and exploded with love all at that same time, and his eyes overflowed with tears as she sang along with her baby boy._

_“Chudovo! Obiymy mene!” She screamed joyfully._

_Her tiny son ran into her arms and squeezed her with all his might, and_ Mickey _felt the warmth of his mothers hug again for the first time in decades_. _Just then, a baby began crying from another room._

_“Oh no, we woke your baby sister. Stay right here. I’ll be right back.”_

Mickey watched his mother walk away into the room and the scene faded away, but he could still feel the love she had left behind. When Lily let go of his hands she gave him a moment as he pressed tears from his eyes and bit down on his jaw to hold his emotions in check.

“Come on. I want you to see someone.” They went into the gymnasium where a hundred people were browsing through all the toys and clothes that had been donated. Lily led him to a table filled with cars and action figures. 

_There was a couple there, looking over their list and browsing through the toys left to choose from. While they were older, Mickey recognized them from the foster home where he and Mandy had stayed as kids._

_“He’s just a little boy. You don’t think that car will be too much for him?” Mrs. Bartlett asked._

_“No, not at all. He’s six already. This is ages 8 and up. He’ll be fine. Besides, every little boy wants a remote-control car.” Mr. Bartlett put a check next to one of the names on his list and grabbed a black plastic car from the table._

“This is where they came every year to get gifts for the kids who stay with them. Mr. Bartlett doesn’t make a lot of money, and contrary to your opinion, the state barely gives them enough to buy food. Clothes and toys come out of their own money.” Lily said. “Mrs. Bartlett got lucky the year you came to stay because Mandy told her you wanted a…” She stopped and covered her mouth, “Woops! I almost gave it away!”

“Gave what away?” Mickey asked.

“Your present, silly. You went to the Bartlett’s too late for her to get you a gift here, so she spent every last penny she had to get what you wanted from the store. She’s been saving it for you ever since.”

Mickey shook his head, “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. If she’s out here getting charity toys, why didn’t she just give it to some other kid?”

Lily looked at him disappointingly, “Because she got it for you.”

“Jesus Christ… that’s the same thing Sandy said. Makes no sense.” They followed the Bartletts to another area where they picked out several winter coats.

“Which part doesn’t make sense? The part where a perfect stranger cared enough about a little boy to get him exactly what he wanted even if she had to pay a little bit more for it, or the fact that a present meant for you is still sitting there waiting for you to come back?”

“Both! All of it! She doesn’t know me from Adam, so why save it?” 

“She knows Mandy.”

“Huh?” Mickey asked.

“When you were a little boy, Mandy told her about your dad, so Mrs. Bartlett kept your address, and over the years she stopped by there to check on you two. She dropped off food, and when school rolled around she brought you school supplies as well. You didn't think your dad actually got those for you, did you? Wow, you really don’t remember her coming over to your house?”

Mickey shook his head.

“Well, you should. You threatened to put a bullet in her head if she didn't get off your porch once.” She gave him a side eyed look and shook her head in shame. “Anyhow, as Mandy got older, she started visiting them for Christmas dinner. You probably don’t remember that because you always disappeared on Christmas. Mrs. Bartlett’s the one who helped Mandy get into college. She flew to see Mandy when your nephew was born, too, and she’ll probably even be invited to Mandy’s wedding – not that you would know that, since you probably won’t be there, right?”

Mickey looked at the Bartletts with their bags of presents and tried to remember if he'd ever seen them at his house, but he just couldn’t put his finger on a single day.

“Anyway, Mandy’s made all your excuses to Mrs. Bartlett for your bad behavior, and sweet old Mrs. Bartlett believed her. So she just keeps putting your gift under the tree each year just in case you decide to come around with Mandy. She's sentimental that way.” She rolled her eyes and added, “If you ask me, I don’t think you deserve it.”

Mickey sneered at her.

“You’re only helping my argument with those nasty looks, you know.” She headed out of the room. “It’s time to go.” 

Mickey couldn’t help but stop where Rhonda was greeting people. She was just as chipper and peppy as she was at the hotel, but for some reason she didn’t seem nearly as annoying as she usually did.

“I bet you wish you had helped her out with that donation you promised now, huh?” Lily asked.

Mickey started walking, “I didn’t promise.”

“Yes you did,” Lily chimed. “You can lie to yourself, but I know better.” She pulled him toward the door, “Come on. We have one more stop to make.”

She waved her arm in front of her and the room changed to the Gallagher’s living room. The house was lit up and decorated for the holiday, with the same worn out Christmas tree that looked like it had seen a hundred years, its branches drooping at the slightest weight of its equally ancient ornaments. It didn’t take him but a second to recognize the room and panic.

“Nah nah nah… fuck this shit! We already did this! _SANDY! SANDY, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?_ Ask her yourself… she brought me here already!” 

Mickey tried walking through the front wall of the house, but it was solid. He tried grabbing the door handle, but his hand went right through it. Lily giggled when he flipped her off then headed for the back door, determined to leave. When he got to the kitchen, he found Ian leaning against the counter and looking at his phone. Instantly, Mickey forgot all about trying to escape as he came face to face with the man who had broken him.

Ian was no longer the scared young boy he had been when Mickey saw him last on the front steps of the house. That Ian had been thin and frail from days of skipped meals, and had bags under his eyes from the long nights he stayed awake and struggled with his inner demons. No, the man standing in front of Mickey now had the glow and body of a person who took great care in their well-being. He had grown even taller and he had put on a solid thirty or forty pounds of muscle. His clothes were clean, his eyes were clear and bright, and he looked …healthy.

Mickey swallowed and cleared his throat, desperately wanting to touch him. He reached for Ian, but his hand went right through him.

_Ian stood up straight and looked around, half expecting to see someone there, then brushed away the gentle touch he had felt on his arm before going back to his phone._

_He felt me!_ Mickey looked to Lily and she gave him a sympathetic smile. He reached for Ian again, but this time there was no response.

“Is he…?” Mickey wanted to ask if he was still bipolar, but of course, he knew the answer was yes.

“He’s doing well.” Lily offered. “He’s been on his meds regularly for about nine or ten years. He had a few rough patches here and there, but he’s ok.”

Mickey nodded and bit at his lip, relieved.

The silence in the room only lasted a moment before the back door flew open and a gaggle of Gallagher’s came walking in.

_“IAN! You’re here! We thought you were coming in next week?” Ian’s brother, Lip, wrapped Ian in a warm hug._

_“Decided to come a little earlier.” Ian said, holding on to his brother tight._

_“You here alone?”_

_“No. Tami’s upstairs putting the kids down for a nap.”_

Mickey’s heart raced… Kids? And who the fuck was Tami? 

_The remaining Gallaghers took turns hugging Ian after setting down bags of groceries._

_“So, did you find a place already?” Lip asked._

_“No, I’m looking at a couple places after Christmas. Should be able to get something by New Year’s.”_

_Just then, a little girl, no older than seven came running down the stairs, her fiery red hair bouncing behind her as she ran and jumped straight into Lip’s arms._

_“Uncle Lip! I made you a Christmas present at school! Wanna see it?”_

_”You did? Why don’t you wrap it up and put it under the tree, and I’ll see it tomorrow, ok?”_

Mickey came in close to get a better look at the little girl. A part of him might have lost his shit over this child that could only be Ian’s daughter with those freckles and bright red hair, if his brain wasn’t still reeling from the idea of Ian being married TO A WOMAN!

_Lip put the little girl down and got back to the groceries. Ian gave her a gentle pat on the head before excusing himself._

_“I’m gonna go lay down. I didn’t get much sleep last night - early flight and all.”_

_“Yeah, sure. Use Fiona’s old room if you want.”_

Mickey _followed Ian up the stairs. Ian made a pit stop in the bathroom while_ Mickey _peeked into another room where a tall blonde woman was trying to get a toddler to sleep._ Mickey _tried to get a closer look at her, but when Ian came out of the bathroom,_ Mickey _followed him to the bedroom instead. Lily was already standing quietly in a corner._

 _Behind closed doors, Ian kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. He yawned and stretched, then laid back with his arms sprawled above him and his long legs still hanging off the side of the bed._ Mickey _stepped between his open thighs and took him all in. Ian stared at the ceiling, too tired to get undressed and lost in far away thoughts.  
_

_Knock knock knock!_

_“Come in.” Ian got up to open the door. His body merged and melted right into_ Mickey’s, _sending an electric charge through both of them and knocking_ Mickey _off balance. Ian grabbed the wall as the door opened._

_“Whoa, Ian, you Ok?” Lip asked._

_“I’m good. Just stood up too fast, I think,” but it was definitely more than that. When he had stood, his whole body had tingled and sent his heart racing, but he hadn’t felt dizzy at all. He looked around the room again half expecting to see something there that had touched him._

_“Listen, I talked to Tami, and we wanted you to know that you’re welcome to stay at our place as long as you need to. It’s small, but we got a good couch, and it would be a lot quieter than it is here. Not to mention, no Frank to bother you.”_

“Wait,” Mickey said out loud to no one listening, “Tami is with Lip? Yes! I fucking knew it!”

_Ian chuckled, “No Frank, huh? Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse. Thanks.” Before Lip could leave, Ian said, “Lip, hold up. I brought something for Freddie.”_

_He pulled his suitcase up on the bed and opened it, searching around for a small package._

_“Hmmm… I hope I didn’t leave it. Oh, wait, I know where it is.” Ian pulled a green military duffle with the name Gallagher stamped across the hand strap. His clothes were carefully folded next to other personal belongings inside. Ian started pulling things out and putting them on the bed, including the Woody doll Mickey had given him when they were just kids._

_“Oh shit, you still have that?” Lip asked, “Lemme see it.”_

_Ian handed it over gently, “Careful. The stitching on his leg is coming loose.” He continued looking for the gift he’d brought for Lip’s son._

“I can’t believe he still has that.” Mickey said.

Lily rolled her eyes, as if he’d never get it. “Mrs. Bartlett still has a gift for you. _You_ still have a gift from your sister. Why is it so hard to believe he kept that?”

Mickey ignored her.

_“How much do you think this is worth now? Gotta be a couple hundred, right?”_

_“Probably nothing. Mickey changed the name on the bottom of the boot.”_

_Lip flipped Woody’s boot up to look._

_“ Oh yeah… I forgot about that.” He glanced at his brother, “So… You ever hear from him?” Lip asked._

_“Who? Mickey? No. I'm pretty sure he didn’t want me to find him, you know? I tried for a really long time. Asked Mandy a few times, but she always says she doesn't know where he is. I get it... he probably asked her not to tell me. Just talked to her last week, as a matter of fact._ _She said Terry died.”_

_“No shit! How?”_

_“Fuck if I know. Good riddance, far as I’m concerned.”_

_Suddenly Ian’s early arrival made sense. “You going to the funeral?” Lip asked._

_“Huh? Me? No. Fucking hated that guy.”_

_“Maybe Mickey’ll be there.”_

_Ian scoffed, “The only person on earth who hated Terry more than I did, was Mickey. I doubt he’d show up. ‘Sides, Mandy said they didn’t have any plans for a service.”_

_Lip nodded, knowing Ian must have been hoping there would be a funeral. His brother hadn’t just paid triple the price to fly across the country a day before Christmas when he could have just waited another week as he had planned. He tried not to be concerned, but asked, “You been feeling Ok? Taking your meds?”_

_Ian looked him in the eyes and gave him a reassuring smile, “Yep. I’m good. Promise.” Ian found the white plastic bag he’d been searching for and handed it to Lip, “Here it is. Hopefully it’ll fit. He’s bigger than I thought he’d be. I was gonna wrap it, but I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet for Franny, so-“_

_They traded Woody for plastic bag._

_“I’ll put this in his diaper bag, so Franny won’t see it. Thanks.”_

“The little girl isn’t his either?” Mickey asked.

Initially, the thought of Ian having kids with someone else had been painful to think of, but now knowing neither of the kids belonged to him made Mickey a little sad. He could have easily seen Ian as a dad with a couple little red headed rug rats running around.

“Nooo… Niece and nephew.” Lily answered. “He’s never been married. Couple quick flings through the years, but nothing close to what you two had.”

_Ian closed the door behind Lip, then plopped himself down on the pillows with his Woody in hand. He pulled the string and Woody declared, “Reach for the sky!” Ian put his arms above his head and rested them on the pillow as he began to fall asleep.  
_

Mickey stepped closer, but Lily took hold of his arm and said, “It’s time, Mickey. We have to go.”

“Not yet. Please, just give me a minute,” The room seemed to grow longer, and the bed Ian was laying on moved away from him. “Ian, no! Don’t go! Ian, I’m here! I’m right here!” He struggled to free himself from Lily’s grip, but Ian just got farther away. The light in the room faded, and soon it was like looking down a dark tunnel with Ian at the other end.

“ _IAN!!”_

Lily let go of his arm and Mickey fell forward with a thud, immediately scrambling on hands and knees toward Ian. Soon the light at the end of the tunnel had faded to nothing more than speck, and then it was faded to black, and Ian was gone. Mickey stood to run, but it was too late. The snow began to fall around him, and once again he found himself standing on the front lawn of the brownstone where he lived.

His chest heaved and he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes to hold back tears.

“Mickey, are you Ok?“

“I need a minute,”

She touched his shoulder and he shoved her hand away, “I NEED A FUCKING MINUTE! Jesus Christ, do you think you can fucking do that?”

Lily nodded, then stepped away and didn’t speak. The cold snow was beginning to make his feet hurt, and he began to shiver uncontrollably, but he kept staring off into the dark night hoping Ian would appear once more.

After several minutes, Lily spoke earnestly, “I need you to listen to me. My time with you is up, and the next…” she stopped. It scared her just to think about the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

“The next what?” He demanded.

“The next _spirit…"_ she said quietly, as if it might hear her, "...he won’t have any mercy. He doesn’t know humor or sarcasm. He doesn’t care about love, and he won’t be forgiving in anything that he has to show you. Do you understand? Not even the slightest bit of ignorance or wanting on your part will be able to appeal to his good nature, because he hasn’t any. This is your last chance.” She was pleading with him now, “Please don’t try to charm or kid your way out of things with him, Mickey… _please_.”

Her words sent an even deeper chill through him. The wind whipped up and sent a fierce gust of snow swirled around them like a cyclone. The painful moans of agony encircled them once more, and Mickey held his arms in front of him to shield against the squall.

It only lasted seconds, but when it ended, Lily was no more. No lush green velvet robe, no footprints in the snow, nothing.

“Lily!” Mickey called cautiously. He rubbed his arms and shivered, “Lily, where’d you go?” 

Just then the front door of the brownstone opened, and a giggling couple came walking out, pulling their coats closed around them. Behind them, Mickey could see Lily standing near the top of the staircase, waving goodbye. Once more, she was dressed in that silly elf costume with her pointed shoes and ears to match, and bells from head to toe. Mickey looked up to the 2nd floor windows and saw her guests at the party dancing to the Christmas music.

“I need a fucking drink.” He mumbled and walked into the brownstone’s front door for the third time that night.

Lily grinned from ear to ear when she saw Mickey walk through the front door, shoeless and covered in snow.

“You’re gonna catch your death out there if you keep this up. Should I even ask?”

Her sing-song voice raked at him, making him scowl. He had no idea how this Christmas haunting bullshit worked, but by the looks of it, the Lily standing in front of him had no clue what the Lily in the green velvet robe had been up to tonight. He decided to ask anyway.

“Did you just…” _hmmm… how to ask this…_ “Did we… you know?” He pointed his thumb at the front door, hoping she’d catch on. She tilted her head inquisitively, reminding him of the way a puppy might when they are trying to figure something out. _Oh fuck it!_ “Did you and me just go someplace?”

“When?” She asked.

“Now. Out there.”

Now she looked at him like she was worried about him. “How could I be out there when I’m right here.”

“I know that! I just … never mind! Just… go back to your stupid fucking party!” He waved her off and went to his apartment. When he turned the knob, it didn’t budge. He wiggled the knob again, but it was no use. The door was locked. He leaned forward and pounded his head on the door, “Ah, fuck me!”

With his head down, dragging his feet as he went, Mickey went back out into the cold to find a window he might be able to climb through to get back into his apartment.


	4. Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

**STAVE FOUR**

It took some finagling and about five minutes, but with some luck Mickey managed to jimmy the cheap locks on his bedroom window without having to break it. He climbed in, falling on top of the heater vent that was blasting warm air. With one hand, he reached up and slammed the window shut, then curled up next to the vent to try to get warm. 

He played the nights events over in his mind, thinking about Ian and wondering if what Lily had told him was true. If all that he had seen based in reality and not some fucked up lunatic mind trip he had fallen into, then the visions of Ian had only happened that very morning.

The heater finally killed the chill in Mickey’s bones, but he stayed there on the floor with the beat of the music from above lulling him to sleep, and thoughts of Ian to keep him company. There was no telling how long he was there – minutes, maybe hours – but the weight of something heavy hit the floor and shook the apartment, waking him with a jolt! He came to, ready to fight, but when he opened his eyes, his bedroom was darker than usual, no longer lit from the streetlamp outside. 

He rolled onto his hands and knees, feeling around in front of him, but the floor beneath him was no longer the old worn carpet from his bedroom, but cold cement that scraped at his bare feet and hands. He heard a creaking and cracking in the dark, and knew he was in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. He got to his feet, ready to see the images that waited for him, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness around him. Soon the spirit appeared before him, shrouded in garments so black that even the slightest of light seemed to be swallowed up in it, making it impossible to tell where the specter ended, and night began.

It stood ten feet tall, covered from top to bottom, with only the tips of bony white fingers exposed. The hand reached out and beckoned Mickey to come closer, filling him with dread. 

“A-a-are you th-the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?” he stuttered.

The phantom didn’t answer, but only pointed down, waiting for Mickey to come closer. Mickey approached slowly, shaking uncontrollably, not knowing what awaited him. Lily’s stern words played in his head, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely small and vulnerable to the monster that stood before him.

“Y-you’re here to show me things that haven’t happened yet, right?” The upper portion of the shroud bent forward as the only answer. Mickey’s heart raced, his body trembled, and he raised his clutched hands before him as if in prayer, more for himself than anything.

“I’m more afraid of you than anything of the others,” he moaned, his voice shaking. “but I know now that this is for my own good, and I'm ready to see whatever you show me.”

Its silence was piercing. The hand pointed straight and Mickey knew he was meant to follow.

“Ok,” he said meekly, moving in its shadow as it went forward into the dark.

_Michigan Avenue unfolded in front of them, no longer frosted with snow and slush but rather busy and bustling under the warmth of the summer sun. The spirit stopped in front of the hotel where Mickey had kept his tiny office, and there stood Charlie and Rhonda outside talking. Both seemed years older – Charlie still with his soft, good natured way about him, but Rhonda looked different. The years had been less kind to her. She was smoking, a habit Mickey had never known her to have before, and her eyes were tired and hard. She no longer resembled the bubbling, friendly hotel manager who followed him around like a puppy dog every time he walked into the building or the woman he had seen greeting people at the Boys & Girls Club. _

_“How did they find his body under all that trash and debris?” Charlie asked._

_“Who knows, but can you just imagine the smell? They hadn’t cleared that mess for a month. He was just lying there, underneath all that trash, rotting in the summer heat.” She pinched her face and shuddered at the thought of it. Whoever they were talking about, it was clear that Rhonda held no sympathy for him at all. “Good riddance, I say. At least now we won’t have to deal with his pissy attitude around here anymore.”_

_“Didn’t he have any family?” Charlie asked a bit kindlier. “No next of kin? No friends? No one?”_

_She shrugged, “None that I know of. Tells you all you need to know about a man when you can’t name a single soul who cared if they lived or died.”_

Mickey was surprised to find the spirit had any interest in the death of some random man, but he knew there had to be a reason he was meant to hear this conversation for himself. He tried to put his finger on who the doorman and manager might be talking about, and there was a moment when the fear of his own mortality gripped him, but he shook it away. Then it dawned on him – The filthy, beggar who used to piss on the sidewalk as Mickey passed by – of course! It had to be. He looked down to the end of the parking structure, then around the street for the man, but he was no where to be found. 

“It’s him, isn’t it spirit? The…” he stopped himself from calling the man _bat shit_ _crazy,_ “the beggar… the one who was bipolar?”

The spirit didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked away from the hotel without easing Mickey's fear that it might not be the beggar after all. Panic and dread bubbled up as he thought of that unknown man’s death. He checked every shaded doorway they passed for signs of the beggar anywhere, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt and relief at the same time when he was nowhere to be seen. 

_Soon, the city disappeared, and the cool air and brown leaves on the trees told Mickey they were no longer in summer. The spirit came to a stop in front of the home that belonged Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett. Several sheriff’s cars were parked outside with one officer knocking on the door incessantly, while others posted Notices of Eviction up on the windows and door of the home._

_At last the door opened just a crack, and a gray-haired Mrs. Bartlett peeked out. “Yes?” She asked timidly._

_“Trudy Bartlett? I have a Notice to Vacate the premises, effective immediately. I’m going to need you and your husband to come out of the home, please.”_

_“But… my husband passed away. I have children here.” She pleaded._

“Are you fucking serious!?” Mickey exclaimed. “You can’t fucking be serious! These are good people! They can’t just throw her out of her home.” 

_The officer pushed through the door, and_ Mickey _was tempted to go yank him back out of the house, but it was no use. He couldn’t help her. He followed the police officers inside where they were already grabbing anything they could carry out to the sidewalk._

_”No, please! Please don’t!” Mrs. Bartlett begged, hugging a small child who clung to her, crying._

“You fucking bastards! Motherfucking… Don’t do this! You don’t have to do this! I’ll help her! Stop! Just stop!” Mickey cried out, standing in their path as if his will alone might be enough to stop them.

 _One officer opened a hallway storage closet and began pulling out bins marked “Christmas decorations.” He stacked three boxes on top of each other and started for the door, colliding into another officer carrying an armful pillows and bedding. The boxes fell to the floor with the shattering of breakables inside. One box fell open and spilled its contents all over the floor. Mrs. Bartlett ran to save them from being trampled, but one gift wrapped box got kicked across the room to where_ Mickey _stood._

_He reached for it, unable to pick it up, but saw his own name scrawled across the tag on the front. The corner of the package had been ripped open, and inside he could see the Buzz Lightyear doll he had wanted when he was just a little boy. His chest tightened as he looked to Mrs. Bartlett and the children who were now huddled together on the floor, crying._

_“Where are we supposed to go? I don’t have any money, please! We have nowhere to go!”_

Mickey stood there feeling hopeless and helpless, then walked out of the house where the spirit waited, indifferent and unmoved by the scene.

“Spirit, I don’t understand why you’re showing me these things. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything I can do? These are good people!” He pleaded knowing he was screaming into a void. He thought of his sister, and how Mrs. Bartlett had been there for her – the only bright light in her dark world for so many years, even when he himself had not been there for Mandy. “For fuck’s sake! Show me _something_ good. This can’t be all I’m supposed to see! Give me something worth hoping for, god damn it!”

A brisk wind kicked up, and the crispy crunching of decaying leaves filled the air, swirling and twirling around him, plastering themselves to his face and arms which he held in front of himself. When it settled, he spat out pieces of twigs and leaves, and wiped his face clean, their dank scent of decay and death still hanging in the air. He opened his eyes and found himself standing inside the Milkovich house, its worn splintered floors and the peeling, water stained wallpaper even more decrepit than he remembered. Several windows were now broken and boarded over, casting dark, unnatural shadows in the room, with a thick veil of dust floating in the few rays of sunlight that shown through.

Mickey lifted his t-shirt and wiped the sweat that was now dripping from his forehead. The house was an unbearable oven. He looked around and found the spirit standing back in a corner of the room watching him.

“This? I ask you to show me something hopeful, and _this_ is what you got?” Mickey shook his head, “You’re real fucked up, you know that? Lily said you were a real bitch with no sense of humor.”

He stepped forward, hitting his shin on something hard – a broken chair or table? 

“Fuck!” 

Whatever it was, he grabbed it and flung it to the side, trying to get to the front door, but the house was a maze of debris and trash piled up from years of neglect.

Outside, the sound of two car doors closing caught his attention, and he hopped over the rest of the garbage to get to the window.

_A green SUV was parked in front of the house with its back hatch opened. A man dressed in slacks and a polo shirt unloaded several cases of water and soda, then two large flower arrangements that might be used for a wedding…. Or a funeral._

_Mandy came walking around the other side of the SUV, carrying a cooler and searching through her purse._

_“I can’t find the keys.” She said._

_Tim looked at the front door of the house and sighed. “Are you sure it’s even safe to go in there? I mean, didn’t the roof cave in, or something like that?”_

Mickey looked around the living room. The ceiling seemed perfectly fine to him.

_Mandy continued searching her purse as they approached the front door, “Not all of it. Just the one bedroom. The rest of the house is fine. I think.”_

He saw the door handle wiggle, and waited anxiously for his sister to walk in.

_“Let me try.” Tim wiggled the handle harder, then hit his shoulder against the solid wood door several times before groaning with pain._

_“You’ll break your shoulder before you break the door,” Mandy laughed. “My dad tried breaking that door more than once – at least it was good for keeping him out when he was shitfaced. Let’s go around back.”_

Mickey listened as they made their way around the back of the house, stumbling over the trash and broken furniture in the house to meet them back there. This time, the back door pushed right open, it’s hinges already broken from intruders.

_“Do the lights even work?” Tim asked._

_Mandy flipped the switch, and for a brief second a flash of light filled the room before the bulb popped and burned out._

_“Shit.”_

_With the back door open, all three of them were able see to the terrible state of the house in daylight now. It was even worse than Mickey had thought. The kitchen counters were lined with garbage, old food, and roaches that scattered in the sunlight. The wooden floorboards were bent and broken where water had damaged them, and there were new holes in the plaster walls from years of angry abuse._

_“Mands… there’s no way you can do a memorial in this house!” Tim exclaimed. “Holy shit, what happened here.”_

_Mandy looked around, her face a mix of disgust and sadness. “My god. I didn’t realize he had gotten this bad.”_

Mickey looked to the spirit, his voice quivering again, “T-tell me…” but he couldn’t bring himself to finish that question. Just by the years Mandy had matured and Tim’s salt and pepper hair, Mickey knew they hadn’t gone there to have a memorial for Terry. He couldn’t bring himself to admit they might be there for someone he knew so much more intimately, namely himself. 

_Tim stayed near the back door, afraid to venture in any farther than necessary, but Mandy made her way carefully through the house, taking care not to touch too much as she went. She reached the bedroom door where Mickey had spent his childhood and tried the knob, then leaned into the door with a shove until it gave._

_“Jesus.” She whispered, pinching her nose against the smell that still lingered. She wiped dust and tears from her eyes but didn’t dare take a step into the room._

_The light that poured from the room could mean only one thing– either it had been redecorated with floor to ceiling windows, or…_

Mickey _stepped forward, and just as he had feared, the ceiling had been replaced with clear blue skies and sunlight. The floor was covered in broken plaster, rotting wood beams, and red bricks that had caved in where the bed was. Even the wall between the bedroom and the en suite bath had been demolished, leaving only half of the outer walls still standing._

_Rhonda's words haunted him once more, “They hadn’t cleared that mess for a month. He was just lying there, underneath all that trash, rotting in the summer heat…”_

Mickey looked to the spirit, his knees weak beneath him and his voice barely more than a whisper when he spoke, “Spirit… tell me I didn’t die in that room. Pleeeeeeeaaase…”

He fell to the floor and held his hands up as if begging might change these shadows, but the spirit only looked away and pointed to the back door. Mickey followed to where he pointed, and out on the back lot, about a dozen folding chairs were set up beneath a tree. There was a small table with a photo, an urn, and the two flower arrangements, but Mandy and her husband were the only two people sitting there.

_Tim reached for Mandy’s hand, “Mandy, I don’t think anyone is coming.”_

_She squeezed his hand and nodded sadly. Aside from her, there was no one left to remember or to honor Mickey’s life. He had pushed everyone away, suffocating the last breath that Love had tried to offer him, and he had been left to die alone in the house that had started it all._

“Oh god, no,” Mickey wailed, clutching at the spirit’s cloak with desperation. “Please tell me these are just shadows of what might happen,” he begged, “n-not what _will_ happen! I’m begging you!”

The spirit pointed, but Mickey couldn’t bring himself to look again. He wiped tears from his eyes, trembling and shaking his head. The cold skeletal hand insisted, pointing again. Mickey turned his head slowly, peeking through half closed eyes at the photo on the table. It was a picture of him in his youth. A moan borne from pain and fear so deep inside of him bubbled to the surface. He shook his head and backed away from the scene of his own remains and his sister, then stumbled back into the house to cower in a corner.

It was clear to him now that if he continued down the path that he was currently on, he would end his life much like Terry had – alone, unloved, and sick from the rage and hatred in his heart.

“If this is supposed to be warning, then I have to believe that if I change my ways, then these shadows will change as well… is that right?” The spirit answered as he had before, and before that, and before that – with only silence.

“I'm not the person I was this morning,” he truly believed the words he spoke from the bottom of his heart, but the spirit remained unmoved. “I know I can do better!”

 _The creaking of his bedroom door caught his ear, and_ Mickey _rushed over to investigate._

 _There, leaning against the door frame with tears in his eyes, stood Ian. Like Mandy, he was older and the years had been kind to him._ Mickey _came to stand beside him._

“Ian… can you hear me?” 

_Ian sobbed and covered his face, then wiped the tears away as more fell._

_“Mickey…” he whispered, regretfully._

“Ian, I’m here.” Mickey reached for him, and for a brief second their bodies connected, and Mickey could feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingers. “Fuck, Ian… I’m so sorry.”

_Ian nodded, and wept, “I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.”_

“No, no, Ian! Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault,” Mickey stood in front of him, longing to put his arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be ok, “It was no one's fault, Ian. Do you hear me? It wasn’t your fault… I love you.”

_Ian’s breath caught in his throat, “I love you. Always will.”_

_With those words, he turned to leave._ Mickey _rushed to follow, but the distance between them seemed to grow as Ian neared the back door, and no matter how_ Mickey _tried, he couldn’t reach him. Ian closed the back door, and through the glass_ Mickey _watched as he placed a steel bar across it, locking_ Mickey _in._

“Ian, don’t leave me! I’m right here! Come back!”

Ian walked around to the front of the house and Mickey raced to the front window and watched him walk out the front gate.

“Ian! _Ian!”_

The back of the house exploded with a _BOOM,_ making Mickey jump and scream. Debris flew in from the kitchen as a wrecking ball hit the back door, shattering the window and sending the refrigerator topping over. The sounds of its giant chain taunting Mickey. Seconds later, another _BOOM,_ and the walls from the bedroom came crashing down! Soon it was like a war zone with spears of wood and brick bullets raining down and from all sides, and the worst of it all, the chains that came flying at Mickey from every direction. 

Mickey shielded his face and screamed, “STOP! Please, stop! I'm in here! I don’t want to die!

 _BO_ _OM!_ This time, pieces of the roof came crashing down, and a load of chains fell on top of Mickey, knocking him to the floor as the destruction continued. He struggled to free himself, his legs pinned and broken, his arms bruised and bleeding, his heart racing. 

“Spirit! _Spirit, come back!_ Don’t leave me here! I can be better! _I will be better!!”_

 ** _BOOOOOOM!_** What remained of the house came crashing down on top of him, blacking out the last of sunlight and denying his lungs air. Mickey gasped and reached for purchase, his fingers tangling in debris, his body weighted by the sinful chains he had forged in life.


	5. Coda: Joyful Redemption

**STAVE FIVE**

He choked and clutched his fists, then let out one last trembling cry, _“I don't want to diiiee!!”_

.

.

.

.

.

Mickey lay like that a moment longer, suffocating and paralyzed by fear, when he realized the din of destruction was gone, and now only silence remained. For a second, he thought surely he must be dead, but when he kicked his legs out in front of him, they were no longer pinned down. His fingers were still caught up in something, but it was soft and familiar. It took his brain only seconds to realize it was nothing more than the knitted blanket wrapped around his limbs. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on his own living room floor. Wrestling his way free, he jumped to his feet and checked that his body was still whole and unharmed.

He wiped his face which was wet with tears, but there was no dust or dirt or blood - and he began to laugh. At first it was just a nervous chuckle, and he looked around as if half expecting another spirit to come collect him, but then it grew, and grew some more until soon he was cackling like a raving lunatic!

“HOLY SHIT!” He laughed some more, then ran for the front window to look out. The night was just as it had been before - calm and cold, but the storm was gone and the stars were out. He ran to his room to put on proper clothing, then checked the time on his phone and was shocked to see that the night had only just begun – it wasn’t even 8 pm yet. He hadn’t lost a single moment, and hadn’t a single moment to lose.

Mumbling like a madman, he made promises to himself and to the three spirits that he had every intention of seeing through to his dying day.

“First, I’ll go to the hotel and give that god damn pain in the fucking ass bitch, Rhonda… HAAAhahaha!... the money I promised her! Then, I’ll find that homeless asshole and… NO! First Charlie. It’s about damn time I gave him a Christmas bonus. God, I’m such a fucking asshole!”

Mickey checked his wallet to see how much cash he had on him. He had never given Charlie a Christmas bonus, “and it’ll blow his fucking mind when I do!” he cackled gleefully! “THEN, Rhonda, then the fucking homeless asshole, then… Fuck! No, I should call Mandy first…” 

He mumbled as he left his apartment in a rush, running straight into his neighbor Lily, who was standing at the front door with a friend. She was dressed in that goddamn felt elf costume with the pointed shoes and ears, and all those little fucking jingling bells from head to toe, and the same Christmas cocktail in her hand that she had been drinking every damn time Mickey saw her.

“LILY!” Mickey cried out, delighted to see the joyful little elf in front of him. He grabbed her by both shoulders and pulled her into a bear hug, spilling her drink all over both of them. 

Lily let out a surprised yelp, wide eyed and holding her hands up at her sides, unsure why Mickey was being nice to her.

“I did it! No! _WE_ did it! Thank you, Lily! I’m sorry I’m such a fucking asshole all the time! You deserve a better neighbor… I promise I will be better!” He squeezed harder, then let go. He could tell by the terrified look on her face that she had no idea what she had done. Mickey cracked up, and smacked her on the arm, nearly knocking her to the ground. “I don’t know what to do first…” he said excitedly. “Do I call Mandy or go to the hotel first or…”

He realized at that moment the most important thing he had to take care of right away. 

“Ian.”

He pulled his coat tight around him before realizing there was no snow on the ground at all. Not a whisper of the storm he had been in all night. He chuckled at the wonder of it all, then jumped in his car and raced through the streets of the south side, nearly running several pedestrians off the roads as he blew through intersections.

“Fuck…. SORRY! Merry Christmas!”

Mickey made it to the Gallagher house in record time. He pulled his car to the back lot and cut the engine, then with complete resolution he reached for the door handle and headed into the house to get his man back!

_“IAN GALLAGHER! Get your ass out here!”_

From the living room, Ian’s youngest sister peeked her head toward the kitchen and said, “Is that… Mickey Milkovich?”

The rest of the Gallaghers peered over the couch at Mickey, and he was instantly hit with the thought that maybe he should have just knocked on the front door.

“Mickey?” Lip came walking into the kitchen with his son in his arms. “Hey, man. What are you doing here?”

Mickey scratched his head nervously, hoping Ian would materialize and save his ass, but no such luck. Everyone was still looking at him from the other room.

“Uh… ‘s Ian home?” he asked quietly.

Lip graciously held back a grin, “No. He went out a couple hours ago. Christmas shopping.”

“Right now?!” Mickey asked as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“Yeah. He just got back in town a few hours ago, so…”

“Oh, right, right.” 

_Shit… now what?_ He turned to leave without another word.

“Hey Mickey, wait up.” Lip eyed him up and down, trying to decide if Mickey still looked like the kind of guy who might rob him blind – the answer to that was a resounding Yes, but he decided to take a chance anyway.

“Listen, Ian’s actually staying over at my place.” 

He pulled a key from his set and handed it to Mickey. “I’m the little white house, corner of 64th and Carpenter. Do me a favor, and don’t rob me blind, ok?”

Mickey looked at the key and nodded. “Thanks.”

He was halfway to his car when Lip called out, “Don’t fuck this up, Mickey.” 

Mickey raised one hand and flipped him off, making Lip laugh.

The house was dark when he arrived, but when he went to unlock the door, he could hear the TV from inside, so he knocked gently and waited. He pushed his hair from his face and wished he had taken a little more time to clean up after his long night, but it was too late to do anything about that now. He knocked once more, and the door opened.

Ian stood there, his hair a mess, wearing well-worn gray sweats and t shirt, and those beautiful green eyes that Mickey had missed so much. It took him a minute to register who he was seeing before him.

“Mickey? What are you-“

That was all he got out. Mickey grabbed him with both hands and shut him up with a kiss, pushing Ian back into the house and slamming the door closed behind them. They kissed desperately, falling onto the couch and clinging to one another, all hands and lips, and letting the longing of so many years melt away between them. When they finally came up for air, they lay nose to nose, still holding each other close, afraid to put even an inch between them.

“You’re here.”

“You bet your sweet ass I’m here. I fucking love you, Ian.”

“I – ouch.. shit… hold on…” Ian reached behind him and grabbed hold of the little boot that was sticking into his back. He pulled Woody out from beneath him and laughed, a little embarrassed to be caught with the doll he had carried around the world after all those years. “Ok… where was I… Oh, yeah…” 

Before he could say anything more, Mickey pulled the string on Woody’s back, and the doll declared, “You’re my favorite deputy!”

\----

Mickey kept the promises he had made to himself and to the Christmas spirits. He started with his sister, Mandy – calling her on Christmas morning from the comfort of his own couch with Ian snoring loudly beside him. He talked to her quietly for an hour, trying hard not to wake Ian. She told him about her son and asked him if he would come to her wedding.

“Wouldn’t fucking miss it,” he said honestly. “Can I bring a date?”

“A date? You’re seeing someone?” She squealed.

Mickey smiled and whispered, “Ian’s back.”

“NO FUCKING WAY! Oh my god, Mickey! I’m so happy! Is he there… put him on! I have to hear it for myself!”

He held the phone away from his ear and laughed, “No, he’s passed out from riding my ass all night. Stop fucking screaming before you wake him up.”

“Aw, Mickey… I’m so happy for you.”

He rolled his eyes, but it made him feel good to know his sister was rooting for them.

“Hey Mandy, do you remember that old lady who took care of us after mom died,” Mickey asked.

“Who, Trudy? Of course, I do. I didn’t think you did though.”

“Well, I was just thinking about her, and wondered if you knew how to get in touch with her.”

“I can send you her phone number, but can I ask why?”

He hadn’t worked it all out in his head yet, and was hesitant to say anything until he saw the condition Terry had left their childhood home, but a promise was a promise, so he finally said, “I know she helped you out a lot growing up, and I just thought maybe we could return the favor.”

Without giving away too many details of his Christmas Eve adventure, he explained that he thought the Bartletts might be struggling to make ends meet and wanted to help them out.

“The house is just sitting there, and you said yourself that it’s paid off. You don’t want it and I sure as shit don’t want it, but with a little elbow grease and some paint, it might be good for them. Oh, and maybe a new roof.”

Mandy didn’t say anything.

“Hello?” Mickey looked at his phone, wondering if they got disconnected.

“I’m here.” She said, sounding concerned. “Mickey, are you sick? Is this your way of telling me you’re dying?”

“What? No, I’m not fucking dying!”

Ian stirred beside Mickey and reached out for him.

“Did you get hit on the head or something? Have some kind of near-death experience you’re not telling me about, because you’re acting fucking weird and I don’t like it.”

“I’m fucking fine, bitch. You know, I’m not an asshole _all_ the time.”

“Yes, you are.” She said plainly.

Ian mumbled from beside him, “Yeah you are, Mick… get off the phone.” He reached under the blankets to persuade Mickey to cut the call short.

“Mandy, I gotta go!”

“Is that Ian? Is he awa-“

\----- 

Within days Mickey had made amends with Rhonda, writing her a generous check to donate to the Boys & Girls Club. He also surprised Charlie with a bonus to make up for so many he had missed in the past.

“Oh, it’s not necessary… You really shouldn’t have… it’s too much!” Charlie said, as he tucked the envelope into his coat pocket before Mickey could take it back. Mickey laughed and thanked him for being such a good guy, then went to take care of one more person while he was in the city.

Asleep in the back of the hotel, under a ripped tarp as his only shelter, Mickey found the homeless man he had fought with so many times. The man cowered when Mickey approached, but Mickey held his hands up as if he meant no harm. He knelt in front of him, and an unexpected lump filled his throat.

“I wanted to give you something.” Mickey opened his courier bag and pulled out a warm jacket and hat. “It’s not new, but it’s warm.” He pulled his wallet out and gave him some money as well, “And this too. That should be enough to get a few good meals.”

“Th-thank you?” The man replied, wondering why Mickey was helping him.

“What’s your name?”

“Hank… My dad called me Harry, but my friends call me Hank.”

“Ok, Hank – tell you what,” Mickey handed him a piece of paper with a phone number that Ian had written down. “Take this. My friend said these people can help you get some meds, and food, and maybe a job and shit… you know, if you want to, that is. No pressure.”

Hank took the number and the gifts, then held Mickey’s outstretched hand in both of his own to show his gratitude.

\-----

“What time are you supposed to be there?” 

Lip couldn’t help sounding concerned as Ian packed his clothes back into his duffle bag. He’d been home less than a week, but Lip had seen him for only a few hours that entire time.

Ian looked at his watch, “About an hour.” He checked his pockets for the key Mickey had given him to return to Lip, “I was supposed to give this to you a few days ago, sorry. I kinda spaced it out.”

Lip put the key back on his ring, “You sure you wanna do this?”

Ian didn’t bother to look at him. This was typical Big Brother Lip talking, running through the typical devil’s advocate questions he always asked. 

“Yep.”

“Can’t talk you out of leaving again, huh? I barely got to see you while you were here.”

Ian looked his brother in the eyes and laughed, “Lip, I’m moving six miles away, not to Russia.”

“I know, but –“ It was impossible for Lip not to sound concerned, and it warmed Ian's heart.

“But?”

“I don’t know. Does he even have any room for all your shit? I just think you’re moving a little fast, that’s all.”

Ian checked each bottle of pills before tucking them into his bag, then gave his brother a pat on the arm, “Lucky for me, he doesn’t own shit, so I’m good. Look, I’ve known Mickey since we were kids. This isn’t fast. As a matter of fact, it’s just about god damn time, if you ask me. Give him a chance, would you?” He tossed his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. “You got my address?”

“Yep.”

“Ok. The moving truck’ll be there in an hour. I’ll pick up some pizza and wings, we can make a night of it.”

"Oh boy... moving all your heavy shit for pizza. Can't wait." Lip laughed.

Ian walked out to where Mickey’s was waiting for him in the car. He tossed his bags into the trunk, then waved to his brother once more – and they went home.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/spankingshakespeare/50772138041/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> 🎄 Merry Christmas 🎄


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